


Good Omens Celebration Prompts all in one place #GOC2020 & GO30Challenge

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), GO30Challenge, GOC2020, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Good omens challenge 2020, Multi, Warnings to be added in notes on each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 55,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: I decided to take on a few challenges this month in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the publication of Good Omens. #GOC2020 and #GO30Challenge.So rather than do 30 seperate fics like I did for ineffable valentines, I’ll be shoving them all here in new chapters, combining the prompts in one place. I’ll probably add an index here as I go.I’ve decided, as I didn’t get a head start on this last month like I did for ineffable valentines, that I might do something different, as I have over 60 fics already written, that if a prompt matches something I’ve already done, to share some of that instead, plus a link to the whole fic (if it’s just a snippet) for further reading, to introduce new readers to some of my older stuff. But where possible I’ll write fresh. I know it’s a cheat, BUT, I’m disabled and chronically ill and don’t always have enough spoons (energy) for writing so I need to practise self-care and make sure I don’t burn out.warnings to be added to notes at the beginning of each chapter as appropriate, there will be some sfw and some nsfw.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 760
Kudos: 296
Collections: GO 30 Challenge, Good Omens Celebration





	1. Introduction And Index

Chapter 1: Introduction and index. 

Chapter 2: [“A month of good omens challenge” questions & answers (as they aren’t writing prompts)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57636310)

**(UPDATED with video of the books)**

Chapter 3: [ #GOC2020 prompt 1 In the beginning (also #GO30Challenge prompt 1 for 1-7 of may week “beginnings”)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57636703#workskin)

Chapter 4 :[#GOC2020 prompt 2 Contrast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57639112)

Chapter 5: [ #GOC2020 prompt 3 Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57665671)

Chapter 6: [ #GOC2020 prompt 4 Force](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57707497)

Chapter 7: [#GOC2020 prompt 5: Miscommunication](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57742258)

Chapter 8: [#GOC2020 prompt 6: Rescue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57742471)

Chapter 9: [#GOC2020 prompt 7: Alternate Universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57797167)

Chapter 10: [ #GOC2020 prompt 8: Family](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57797491)

Chapter 11: [ #GO30Challenge prompt 2 for 8-14th of May week “6000 years”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57958714)

Chapter 12 :[ #GOC2020 prompt 9: Doubt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/57825103)

Chapter 13: [#GOC2020 prompt 10: Miracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58011487)

Chapter 14: [#GOC2020 prompt 11: Old Fashioned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58064200)

Chapter 15: [#GOC2020 prompt 12: Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58097803)

Chapter 16: [#GOC2020 prompt 13: Unlucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58117513)

Chapter 17: [#GOC2020 prompt 14: Food](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58166893)

Chapter 18: [#GO30Challenge prompt 3 for 15-21st May week “Earth Observation Files” AND #GOC2020 prompt 15: "Through the years" combined in one fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58216492)

Chapter 19: [#GOC2020 prompt 16: Far Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58265047)

Chapter 20: [#GOC2020 prompt 17: Holiday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58317502)

Chapter 21: [#GOC2020 prompt 18: Wayward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58364122)

Chapter 22: [#GOC2020 prompt 19: Stars ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58420726)***now ILLUSTRATED by Yvesriba***

Chapter 23: [#GOC2020 prompt 20: Poetry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58472485)

Chapter 24: [#GOC2020 prompt 21: Garden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58518814) ***now ILLUSTRATED by Elwyst***

Chapter 25:[ #GO30Challenge prompt 4 for 22-28th May “After the nopocalypse”  
(AND #GOC2020 pompt 22: Home - combined in one fic.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58567687)

Chapter 26: [#GOC2020 prompt 23: Cursed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58635019) ***ILLUSTRATED***

Chapter 27: [#GOC2020 prompt 24: Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58690228)

Chapter 28: [#GOC2020 prompt 25: Glorious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58706728)

Chapter 29: [#GOC2020 prompt 26: Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58754626)

Chapter 30: [#GOC2020 prompt 27: Road Trip](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58809754)

Chapter 31: [#GOC2020 prompt 28: Culture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58857190)

Chapter 32: [#GOC2020 prompt 29: Apocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58899154)

Chapter 33: [#GOC2020 prompt 30: The End.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964013/chapters/58946779)

Chapter 34: #GO30Challenge 29-30th May Bonus Weekend Challenge TBC - cancelled.


	2. “A month of good omens challenge” questions & answers (as they aren’t writing prompts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions and answers for the Good Omens Celebration month of May. Supposed to be one a day but I've flung them all up in advance.

**A Month Of Good Omens Challenge!**

1 - how long are you in the fandom?

30 years

2 - the first time you saw the show?

The day after it aired

3 - the first time you read the book?

30 years ago, I was at boarding school

4 - favourite actor of the cast?

Michael Sheen is incredibly talented and versatile.

5 - the best ship aside from ineffable husbands?

Beelzebub and Gabriel

6 - the most good omens song ever, in your opinion?

Queen - good old fashioned lover boy.

7 - rec some other book by neilman or pterry!

For Neil - American Gods, for Terry, Mort, but that was a really hard one, because I own ALL his works and they are all so amazing. “Eric” is also a favourite, and Pyramids, and, and, and… all of them! 

8 - show off your merch haul!

9 - the most relateable character

Aziraphale not wanting the world to end because he wants to go on reading and eating things.

10 - the comfort character

Aziraphale

11 - the cutest moment

Crowley cleaning the paint off Aziraphale’s coat

12 - the funniest moment

“I gave it  _ away _ !”

13 - the saddest moment

The bandstand, absolutely.

14 - your favourite moment

Crowley in the Bentely with Hastur, just gunning the accellerator and charging across the flaming M25 “See? This day’s already gotten better. If you’ve gotta go, then go with style! You are my car, I’ve had you from new, you are  _ not  _ going to burn. Don’t even think of it!”

15 - your favourite OST 

“Someone to love” by Queen

16 - wine or cocoa?

cocoa

17 - apples or pears?

Neither - I can’t stand either of them.

18 - pick a song from the best of Queen!

Radio GaGa

19 - best Crowely’s hairstyle

Short hair Crowley is my favourite.

20 - best Aziraphale’s look

Winged angel on the wall

21- the best show screenshot you have

(Click [HERE](http://ukshires.net/AO3/aziraphale-crowley.jpg) for full resolution version.)

22 - your favourite moment/line from the book that wasn’t included in the show

“Crowley gave him the long cool look of someone who has just had a girder dropped in front of his train of thought.”

23 - a cruel question: book or show?

That is VERY cruel, but by the TINIEST margin: show. I know, heresy, especially having loved the book for so long, but the show brought in aspects that the book lacked, increased cast diversity, lost the problematic aspects of Shadwell, and portrayed the love story between angel and demon so beautifully.

24 - show the condition of your book!

Which one? The copy I’ve owned the longest isn’t actually my oldest (that is a 1st edition hardback I bought second hand), but it is the most well read.

25 - something you have never heard of before Good Omens

I was only a kid when I read Good Omens for the first time 30 years ago, so probably quite a bit - the phrase “that went down like a lead balloon”, and the word “ineffable” probably. 

26 - something you started do to because of Good Omens

Lots of things, but I did name my dog “Dog” years ago because of it. She was a very good helly hellhound.

27 - do you want season 2 to happen?

If it consists of flashbacks through history to pre-armageddon stuff, but without Terry, I think that it’d be difficult to do post armageddon things. 

28 - the best fandom thing you witnessed or participated in

All of Michael Sheen’s fans becoming engaged to him on twitter at once.

29 - favourite quote

“DUCKS! That’s what water slides off!”

30 - a message to other ineffans (INEFFABLES)

Thank you for being the sweetest fandom.

31 - a message to the creators

Thank you for shaping my childhood and worldview as I grew up, for three decades of entertainment, for giving me so many phrases that have stuck in my mind and used ever since, that have become part of my psyche. Thanks for showing us what it is to be human incarnate, and that taken away from their extremes, an angel and a demon can be too. 


	3. #GOC2020 prompt 1 In the beginning (also #GO30Challenge prompt 1 for 1-7 of may week “beginnings”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this one I’m using part of a chapter from an earlier work [ “Hunting Ealing”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275075/chapters/50656838), which itself is a sequel to my very first fic [ “Protection”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199874/chapters/50465618). This snippet covers my personal HC that Crowley was archangel Raguel (rather than the popular Raphael) pre-fall. The HC is based on Neil Gaiman’s short story “Murder Mysteries”, which I used a paragraph or two from at the beginning of this piece.
> 
> In “Murder Mysteries”, Raguel has many similarities with Crowley, including stating “I never really fell”, him “hanging around with the wrong people” and “only ever asking questions”. There are more parallels between them, enough that I have to think Neil was aligning their stories, even if only subconsciously. 
> 
> If you’d like to read the full thing, then I suggest you read “Protection” first, and then “Hunting Ealing”. There is also a complete NSFW re-write of protection available if you prefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating for this chapter: General Audiences.   
> Warning tags: no warnings apply

Aziraphale saw through Raguel’s eyes. He was flying among the walls of heaven, looking upward. High above the city, a phalanx of angels wheeled and circled and dove. Each held a flaming sword which trailed a streak of burning brightness. They moved in unison through the salmon-pink sky. They were very beautiful, it was … like on summer evenings when you get whole flocks of birds performing their dances in the sky, it was like that, only better. Above him was the sky, below, the shining city, his home, and outside, the dark.*

The angels above, the cherubim with their flaming swords, captivated his gaze, each so beautiful, their flight so perfect, wings so white, perfect synchronicity with each other as they drilled in the sky. One caught his eye – a bright flash of hair so blonde it was almost white, giving the wearer a permanent halo. Raguel was transfixed, all else forgotten. He didn’t want to stop watching, his gaze continually drawn back to that one angel circling above him, the others fading into obscurity. He was too far away to make out his face clearly, but he wanted to stop him, to talk to him, wanted to  _ know _ him, but his wings ached, then burned, with duty, dragging him back to reality and his purpose, he had to finish what he started.

Lucifer hovered a little below the host, watching their manoeuvres. Raguel called up to him. Lucifer noticed him and dropped down slightly. “Yes, Raguel? Have you discovered your malefactor?” Raguel nodded. “I think so, will you accompany me back to Zephkiel’s cell? There are others waiting for us there, and I will explain everything.”

“Certainly”

Lucifer raised his perfect face to the angels. “AZAZEL!”

An angel broke formation and plummeted in a streak of flaming sparks from his sword. Raguel was disappointed that it wasn’t the blonde haired cherubim that Lucifer had called down.

Lucifer addressed Azazel. “I have to leave, you are in command, Azazel. Keep them drilling. They still have much to perfect.”

“Yes, sir.”

Azazel hovered where Lucifer had been, staring up at a flock of angels. Raguel and Lucifer descended.

Simultaneously, somehow, Crowley was seeing Aziraphale’s memory. He was circling, swooping, keeping his wingtips in a steady regular distance from Azazel’s on one side and Deriel’s on the other, flexing his wings, concentrating hard against the buffeting air currents. They had been drilling for a good hour already and his wings ached with the effort of sustained synchronous flight, his muscles burning. He noticed a flash of red far below him as a 6 winged archangel he didn’t recognise, who he had never seen before that day, approached Lucifer who hovered below, observing their manoeuvres.

In his distraction his wingtip got too close and fouled the air current spiralling by the tip of Deriel’s and caused the other’s wing to falter briefly, skewing the formation. Deriel shot him an annoyed, but patient look. He understood that it was tiring, but they had to concentrate. All of a sudden they were startled by Lucifer shouting up toward them “AZAZEL!” The troop leader broke formation and dove downward. Aziraphale closed the gap with the next cherubim and they re-smoothed out the formation to make up for the missing angel.

Again, Aziraphale gazed down, distracted by the beautiful long bright red hair and sunrise-to-darkness wings of the nameless archangel below them, fascinated. He squinted, trying to make out more detail and got a glimpse of a handsome profile and an elegant lean frame, hovering on the air with an ease that made him frankly slightly jealous. He bet the archangel wouldn’t have any trouble holding complicated formations like he did. He looked effortless in the air, and as he departed with Lucifer, he admired the grace with which he flew, and he felt sadness that the beautiful being was gone from his life.

Crowley’s breath was caught in his throat, he felt the Goddess extricating her hand from his. He opened his eyes to look across at the angel, seeing Aziraphale gazing back at him, his mouth an open O of silent amazement and adoration. Odessa released his hand as well. She stood quietly, backed toward Sean, nudged his foot with her own and silently inclined her head toward the door. Sean looked up, glanced at the two guardians staring at each other in shock on the sofa, understood, and quietly unfolded from the chair. Unnoticed by either angel, the Goddess and her lover left the shop.

Crowley reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand. He broke the silence first.

“Angel, I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“I haven’t loved you since Eden.”

Aziraphale understood, but Crowley said it anyway.

“I’ve loved you since the day I was created, I just never knew it. I fell in love with an angel that day, I never knew his name, and when I plunged to Gehenna I forced myself to forget everything I could, every painful thing, which included that day, for what else happened afterwards, but it included you.”

“By the time I got to Eden, I didn’t remember the angel I’d wanted to know, that I’d yearned to find and talk to, it was part of a more painful memory and I couldn’t remember it if I tried. But when I saw you it didn’t matter, because I fell in love with you all over again.”

Aziraphale nodded, stunned. “I did too. I had never seen an angel so beautiful, I knew archangels were splendorous to behold, but never expected anyone quite like you. I couldn’t tear my eyes away until you were out of sight. Azazel shouted at me for breaking formation again as you left, and made me do 10 extra laps of the city afterward as punishment. I looked for you as I did, but couldn’t see you. I didn’t know why either, there was no way a mere cherubim would have any place talking to an archangel, I tried to put it out of my mind. Then I saw a blinding light near the centre of the city as I completed the last lap, it blazed so bright it hurt my eyes, and I felt something painful in my heart, I never understood what it was, but now somehow I know it was something to do with you.”

Crowley flinched, but nodded. He gulped, and Aziraphale saw tears begin to well up in his eyes. “Another time for that one, angel. I’m not ready for that one, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale nodded and stroked Crowley’s cheek to comfort him. “It’s alright, dearest, in your own time.”

“Crowley, dearest. When I saw you on the wall I didn’t recognise you at all – I hadn’t seen your face clearly enough or for long enough to commit it to memory properly, and after all, you only had a single pair of black wings, you were a demon, I would have no idea that you’d been an archangel before, I’d never have put it all together, but the moment I saw you transform from serpent to demon beside me, I was speechless with your beauty regardless. I tried to rationalise it, I presumed you were trying to tempt me in some way and that you had chosen to do it with seduction or something, tried to stay strong and pretend that what I was feeling was just the result of some demonic manipulation, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t.”

Crowley was weeping, but smiled and sniffed, huffing a short chuckle at the thought. “Asmodeus, that’s me, changed my name to Sexy Bitch” he laughed. Aziraphale smiled. “I wondered when you’d mention that joke”

Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes, his tear streaked face serious. “Aziraphale, darling. I’ve loved you since the day I was created.”


	4. #GOC2020 prompt 2 Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Contrast" prompt, I thought I'd do an outsider's view on the ineffable husbands and how disparate they appear in many ways, and mainly just a bit of ineffable husband fluff after they've moved into their new cottage, settling in and meeting new people in the area. I was a bit stuck on inspiration save for it being a beautiful hot sunny day here and my own washing hanging out fluttering in the breeze, lawnmowers humming in the distance, birds singing, and imagining the content angel and demon pottering about in their own garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

Aziraphale held the pegs in his mouth as he pegged the washing out on the line in the garden of the cottage. He heard a steady clip-clopping of hoofbeats as a horse and rider came down the lane. He glanced up just in time to see a tall skewbald horse festooned in hi-viz quarter sheet and brushing boots slam on the brakes then clatter sideways across the road, eyes goggling in alarm at the flapping clothing on the washing line. It’s rider caught unawares by the sudden change in direction and velocity was unseated and fell to the tarmac with a thud, but she kept a determined grip on the reins even as she lay on the ground, preventing her mount from bolting. 

Aziraphale immediately dropped the clothing in his hands and rushed out of the gate to help. 

“I’m so terribly sorry, my washing startled your horse, are you quite alright, dear?” He reached out to take the reins, pressed one hand to the horse’s neck and pushed forth a soothing miracle to settle it’s terrified mind, before extending a hand down to the girl on the ground to help her to her feet. Another discreet miracle healed her broken collarbone. 

“Thanks,” she gasped, brushing herself off. “Not your fault, Max is just a daft bugger. Just a bit bruised, no harm done. I’ll just show him it’s nothing that’s going to eat him.” She took a firmer hold of the reins and calmly walked Max toward the garden wall so he could see the flapping cloth, talking soothingly to him and scratching at his withers with one hand as he stared, twitching with each flap of the black and cream clothing and sheets on the line, ears pricked and eyes wide. 

Aziraphale stood by in case of further incidents, and reached out his angelic aura to further soothe the anxious horse, and was relieved to see him visibly begin to relax, until he felt safe enough to ignore the previously terrifying flapping items, and put his head down to grab a mouthful of grass from the verge. The rider smiled. “Thanks for that. I’m Emily by the way.” She reached out to shake his hand.

“I’m Aziraphale Crowley-Fell, we just moved in here a few weeks ago, that’s my husband Anthony over there, tending to his flowers.” He nodded in the direction of Crowley, busy mulching the roses on the far side of the garden, earbuds in, bobbing his head in time to whatever music he was listening to, oblivious to the events on the road. “May I help you re-mount your horse? He looks rather tall.”

Emily smiled in relief, she was only about 5’4” and Max was a good 17hands, they were an incongruous pair, she couldn’t even see over his back. She nodded. “D’you know how to give a leg-up?” Aziraphale smiled and nodded. He may not have enjoyed riding horses, but he did have a couple of thousands years’ experience at it. Emily gathered the reins in her left hand and placed it on the pommel of the saddle, her right hand on the cantle, and bent her knee for Aziraphale to grasp and give her a boost up. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, with practised skill. She settled in the saddle and re-took her stirrups, giving Max a little pat and allowing him to continue nibbling grass at the verge so he could relax in proximity to the washing that had just startled him. 

“Cheers. It’s nice to see the old cottage being renovated and lived in again, my great gran lived here once, years ago.” She took in the sight of the sharply contrasting styles of clothing on the washing line and the husbands, the jarring jet black fluttering next to the pale creams and beiges, they were like chalk and cheese. Crowley finally noticed the newcomer, pulled his earbuds out and wandered over. 

As the demon approached, Max snorted and his ears flicked uncertainly. He stomped a hoof and took a hesitant sidestep. Emily looked confused, and tried settling him with a whisper and gentle scratch of his withers. As Crowley came closer to the garden wall, Max pinned his ears back and the whites of his eyes showed in alarm. He did  _ not  _ want to be anywhere near the demon. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s got into him,” Emily apologised, tightening her hold on the reins and nudging the horse forward again. Crowley stopped and looked embarrassed.

“Uh, hi, sorry that’s probably me, animals kind of take an exception to me sometimes. I’ll go back and…” Emily stopped him. 

“No, no, it’s quite alright, he needs to get used to new people, d’you want to pet him? It might help.”

Crowley looked uncertain, and looked to his husband for help. Aziraphale smiled and approached the horse first. As soon as he set his hand on his neck again, Max’s ears flicked forward and every muscle relaxed in contentment. He chewed at the bit softly and let out a fluttering sigh through his nostrils. 

“You’re good with horses Mr. Crowley-Fell,” the human remarked with a smile. Aziraphale smiled. 

“Please, call me Azirpahale.” He extended his hand to his husband and Crowley cautiously stepped forward. As he drew near, Max pinned his ears again and made as if to bite at the demon. Emily pulled his head away aghast. “Oh god, I’m so sorry Aziraphale, that’s not like him at all, I don’t know what’s got into him.” 

“No need to apologise, dear. I’m sure he’ll get used to Anthony in due course, here…” He took Crowley’s hand, then pressed his other hand to Max’s neck, using another soothing miracle to persuade the horse that Crowley wasn’t dangerous, then brought Crowely’s hand to pet the horse in turn. This time Max accepted the touch, and slowly relaxed, before gently nuzzling at Crowley’s soil-smudged black t-shirt. Crowley grinned and pulled an apple seemingly from a hidden pocket about his person, presenting it to the horse.

“Is he allowed this?” He asked Emily. She nodded, and Crowley fed the apple to Max who accepted the token of friendship happily. As her mount enjoyed the treat, she took in the sight of the odd couple. They were definitely a contrast to each other - yin and yang, one all in cream, ivory and beige, the other all in black and crimson, white-blonde hair and vibrant red, soft and cuddly looking, and lean and angular. The contrast of the two was emphasised further by the opposite ends of the washing line behind them - Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s clothes fluttering in the breeze, as if pennants carrying a knight’s colours festooning their home and staking their claim on the cottage. 

Max finished the apple and nuzzled Crowley for more, nosing at his pockets and making the demon chuckle happily. “Would you like a bag to take home? I’ve got more, more in the orchard than we’ll ever get to use up.”

“Oh that’s very kind, thank you.”

“Ok I’ll go pick you a few, be back in a minute.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a quick squeeze around his middle and a peck on the cheek then hurried off, smiling. Aziraphale watched him leave fondly. Emily was warmed by the affection in his expression. 

“Are you two newlyweds then?”   


Aziraphale blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

Emily laughed. “Yeah. How long have you known each other?” The blonde gent got a peculiar quirk of amusement across his features at the question. 

“Oh, ages, aeons, you have  _ no  _ idea. Anthony and I used to work for rival firms, we ended up working in close proximity to each other as we worked in related fields, we’ve been friends for ever such a long time, which our respective bosses would absolutely not have approved of at all, so last year we both quit, chose our own side, realised that all that time we’d been pining for each other and both too scared to admit it. We moved in together in London first, then decided to find a more peaceful place to settle down after the wedding.”

“You look like a bit of an opposites attract kind of couple.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh absolutely. He doesn’t approve of my sartorial choices at all, but secretly I know he likes it really. He’s all bluster. I like the quiet life, books and baking. Cr.. Anthony likes fast cars, loud music and posh cooking. I enjoy consuming the fancy meals, he delights in making them.”

“So is his only quiet indulgence his gardening then?”

“Oh no, far from it. Not the way  _ he  _ does it. Please don’t be alarmed if you come riding past one day and hear him screaming at the rhododendrons, it’s just his way.”

“Screaming at them?”   


“I’m afraid so. He heard about talking to plants once years ago and does it in his own unique way. It has to be said though, it appears to be effective. I did at least manage to stop him putting the less obedient plants down the garbage disposal unit, but only because this cottage doesn’t have one. Instead he’s taken to throwing them over the fence to Gerald and Mabel the goats in the paddock behind the house. Only the safe to eat ones of course,” Aziraphale added hurriedly, “and their owner did say it’s ok. I’m not sure what he’s doing with the inedible ones now and at this point I’m afraid to ask.”

Emily laughed and spotted Crowley coming back around the side of the house bearing a reusable fabric shopping bag laden with apples, which he held up for her to tie to the D-ring on the saddle. “Thanks for the apples, much appreciated, can I give you anything for them?”

“Nah,” Crowley grinned. “Up to my ears in apples right now, I’m giving them away to any Tom, Dick or Harry who comes along to be honest. Lemme know if you want any more, or if you’ve got horsey friends who want some for their hairy beasts too.”

“Cheers, that’s very nice of you,” Emily replied with a smile. Crowley stiffened slightly, then Aziraphale stroked the small of his back gently and he relaxed again, with a brief affectionate glance at his husband. 

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Well must be getting this hairy horror back to the yard again, it was lovely to meet you both, take care.”

“Likewise, my dear. I hope you’re not too badly bruised, do pop in for a cup of tea if you’re passing again.”

“Cheers. That wasn’t a bad fall considering it was onto tarmac, thought I’d broken something for sure when I landed, but feels fine now. See you later!”

Emily gathered her reins again and nudged Max into a brisk trot, keeping one hand on the bag of apples to stop them bouncing at his shoulder. 

“You’re getting better at accepting the ‘nice’ comments, darling,” Azirpahale complimented his husband with a hug and a kiss.

“Shut up.” Crowley grumbled without rancour, then kissed him back.


	5. #GOC2020 prompt 3: Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets another unexpected summoning, with even more unexpected demands. The summoners also didn't quite expect to receive a demon quite like Crowley, or that his other half would turn out to be an angel...
> 
> SFW fluff and nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general  
> warnings: none

Crowley was having a nap when it happened, which was a first. Generally he got a bit of a heads up, but to be yanked out of your dreams and be unsure if you were still dreaming or not was rather disconcerting. He blinked, and looked around, feeling a little dizzy and slightly nauseous, which, in the absence of any alcohol having been involved the night before, told him everything he needed to know. He stared around him anyway. 

Chalk, salt, candles, 3 nervous humans wielding a huge ancient book and looking surprised they’d actually succeeded: check, check, check, and check. 

Summoning circle. Yup. 

Last time this had happened at least it had been [ a roomba on a oujia board rug.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) He wasn’t sure he wanted to take any of this lot home to clean his floors though. One of the trio began to giggle. Crowley sighed. 

“Tartan pyjamas?”

Crowley glared at them, and thought of his angel lying comfortably in bed somewhere out there, suddenly cuddling nothing but fresh air. 

“It’s black and red check, it’s not  _ tartan _ ,” he hissed menacingly. The human snorted. Crowley was feeling rather naked without his shades, but stuff it, the humans had expected to summon a demon, so the eyes weren’t particularly going to surprise them, if anything all it did was confirm that they’d done it right. He sighed.

“What d’you want? Let’s get this over with then maybe I can get back to bed.” He sat up, yawned, stretched, and rested his arms on his raised knees, watching them all with a bored expression. 

The humans stared at each other, suddenly flustered that they actually had a demon in their grasp, and now they did, had quite forgotten what they had meant to do with it. 

“C’mon, c’mon, get a move on, because if you don’t, you’re apt to find a rather pissed-off Principality turning up soon to see where I am, and last time he did that he [ set a barn on fire with a flaming umbrella.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346210/chapters/50841886) He rolled his eyes impatiently. He wondered if Aziraphale had woken up yet or not. He didn’t have his mobile on him to call or text the angel, so he’d wait and see. 

“Well…,” a blonde girl in her late teens shuffled forwards nervously. She coughed, then raised her head a little more defiantly, steadying her nerves. “We bind and abjure thee, foul fiend…”

Crowley cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yes, yes binding and all that lot, you don’t need to say it, the circle is doing it for you, get on with it for crying out loud.”

The girl looked taken aback, but swallowed and continued nonetheless. “First demand - My sister is in hospital, she’s on chemo, and it’s not going well. I demand you cure her, completely and forever.”

Crowley’s jaw fell in surprise. This was not the kind of thing people generally summoned demons for. 

“You what? Didn’t you think it’d be better to summon an angel for that one? Healing isn’t the kind of thing demons can do, as a rule.”

Usually demons were summoned for more selfish desires, wealth, women, fame, revenge and suchlike. It was the first time someone had asked him to do something nice for another person. The problem was, he was a demon, in a demonic summoning circle, that alone would bind him to only carrying out tasks considered “evil.” He wondered if there was any way he could spin things to work this around into it being a bad thing. His mind whirled. The girl interrupted his thoughts. 

“You can’t summon angels. We tried praying, no one ever listens. The whole church has been praying for her every Sunday, they might as well be reading the football scores for all the good it’s doing. So I thought I’d try something else. My friends said they’d help me.”

Crowley blinked at her in surprise. Well at least  _ he  _ could summon an angel. He considered for a moment. “What were your other two demands? I might be able to help, and what’s your name?”

The blonde girl stepped closer to the circle. “I’m Katie, this is Greg and Angela.” She regarded Crowley intently. He also wasn’t what she’d expected in a demon, he seemed far more amenable than she’d been led to believe from descriptions in books. “Second demand is, her house is due to be repossessed because she hasn’t been able to keep up the mortgage repayments while she couldn’t work. I want her to win enough money to cover it and make her stable financially again.”

Crowley nodded, dumbfounded. “And the third?”

“Thirdly, well we didn’t really have much of a third, it was really those two, so this one is for Greg. His car isn’t working and he can’t afford to get it fixed, so he’s struggling to get to work, he can’t afford the bus and is walking 8 miles each way every day in all weathers. I thought maybe you could get him enough money to fix his car.”

Crowley sat and considered for a moment. Finally he spoke. “You are definitely the least evil summoners I’ve ever met. Now I can’t do the healing one myself I’m afraid, but if I could borrow your mobile and let me call my other half, he can take care of that one for you, although you might want to get a pot of tea on the go ready for when he gets here, because he’s still asleep at the moment and will need waking up a bit. A packet of biscuits wouldn’t go amiss either if you’ve got ‘em.” He looked around the room. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“Abandoned swimming pool round the corner from Greg’s house”

“Ah. That’d explain the tiles then.” Crowley pondered on the other two issues. “So is Greg’s car nearby as well?” A series of nods. “What’s it doing?”

Greg stepped forward and chipped in. “It keeps revving erratically and going into limp mode, the check engine light goes on.” Crowley nodded and thought a bit. “Might be able to do that one for you and save you an extra miracle if you like, I don’t mind.”

The trio stared at him agape. Angela stepped forward, suspicion etched across her features. “Why would a demon do that?” Crowley shrugged. 

“You seem like nice people. I don’t expect you to trust me, but let’s get the first one dealt with first, then you can see how you feel, deal?”

Angela narrowed her eyes at him, but Katie shrugged and placed her mobile on the floor then kicked it into the circle. Crowley retrieved it and tapped in a few numbers. He waited. “Hi, Angel. Yeah, sorry about that. Summoned… yeah… yup…. ‘Fraid so… nah… nah, they seem nice, one for your lot really, except your lot aren’t listening as per usual, would you mind popping over and lending a hand? Yuh.. yeah…. Mmm-hhm. Yup. Love you.”

He tossed the phone back to Katie who caught it, but only just, fumbling in her surprise.  _ “Love you?” _ she asked, incredulously. Crowley shrugged. Greg shared her incredulity. 

“Did you just call an  _ Angel  _ and tell them that you  _ love  _ them?” Crowley glared at him. Greg hastily raised his hands in a placating manner and backed off. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

Crowley thought of something. “Hey, what’syername - Katie, can you text that number I just dialled and ask him to grab the toolkit from the Bentley too?”

“Bentley?”

Crowely shrugged. “Just ‘cos I’m a demon doesn’t mean I can’t have  _ style _ .” Katie raised her eyebrows, especially at the pyjamas, forebore to comment, and sent the text. “And you’d better send someone to put the kettle on while we wait,” Crowley reminded her. She nodded at Greg, who made his way to the exit. 

Crowley considered for a moment. He could spin the mortgage money as “greed”, even though it wasn’t, not really. He snapped his fingers and summoned a winning lottery ticket that’d net them about eighty thousand, which should do. He folded it into a paper plane and launched it out of the circle to land at Katie’s feet. She picked it up and examined it carefully. “How do I know this is a winner?” 

“Look at the circle - three concentric circles, right? One for each demand, middle one has dimmed out, see?” Angela stepped forward and saw that of the three glowing rings, one indeed had gone dark. “Once all three demands have been met, all three rings go out and I’m free. You’ll have to put me in a mobile circle of holding, a virtual containment device so I can go outside and do the car one for you, that’ll be in your book somewhere, or I can tell you how to do it. If I try anything untoward I’ll just get launched back to the main circle again.”

Crowley inspected his nails thoughtfully. “So, assuming I can fix the car by mundane methods, have you had a thought about your replacement third demand?” Katie and Angela exchanged glances. 

“D’you want one, Ange? I’ve got two, Greg’s taking one, you didn’t say you wanted anything.”

“I didn’t think this bloody thing would even  _ work, _ ” Angela replied. “Let me think about it.” Crowley nodded, then brightened as he felt the familiar prickling sensation of an incoming angelic teleportation. Aziraphale landed a few feet away in a brief glimmer of bright white light, carrying a toolbox. A moment later, Greg returned with a thermos and a packet of chocolate digestives. 

“Oh Crowley, darling, are you quite alright dearest?” The demon stood, beaming.

“Yeah, no problems this time, love. Just need your help with a healing miracle. Going to have to circumvent a couple of rules with a loophole, so I’m gonna ask you to do it, you’re going to refuse, then I’m going to “tempt” you into it, so I’ve still done something bad by tempting an angel to do my will. Ok?”

Aziraphale grinned at his clever demon. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” Crowley gritted his teeth and avoided eye contact at Katie giggled at the endearment. 

“Angel, I’m  _ working  _ here, a little professionalism, please.” 

“You started it, Crowley, you called me ‘love’ first.”

“Did I? Damn. Fair enough then. Anyhow: I demand that you heal Katie’s sister who is in hospital on chemo.”

“No.”

“Oh, go on. I’ll buy you some jaffa cakes when we get home.”

“Oh, well in that case...” 

Crowley grinned, Aziraphale snapped, and another glowing ring extinguished. Crowley rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Right, Angel, could you pop over there and show them where in that book it shows the mobile circle of holding spell they need for me to pop out of here for a bit?”

Aziraphale nodded and plucked the book from Katie’s hands, flipped a few pages, found the relevant passage and handed it back. “Just say those words.” She began, faltering, until the angel stopped and corrected her Latin pronunciation a little, then allowed her to carry on. Another, green glowing ring erupted around Crowley and he took a hesitant step forward. It moved with him and allowed him to move around the room. He took the tool box off Aziraphale and nodded at Greg. “Lead the way, then.”

They left the abandoned swimming pool via a broken window with wooden boards pulled off the outside of it, and followed the trio of humans down the street. Greg had handed the thermos of tea to Aziraphale who was sipping as he ambled along, and occasionally nibbled on a biscuit. A couple of doors down they got to an old vauxhall astra on a driveway, it had clearly seen better days. “Open it up and pop the bonnet, try to turn it over will you?” Crowley asked Greg. The others sat on the garden wall and watched, sharing the biscuits. 

Crowley opened the bonnet the rest of the way once Greg had unlatched it, and listened as he tried to turn it over. The engine caught, but the revs were all over the place. “Ok, shut it off again, gimme a min…” He opened the tool box and removed a couple of items, then fiddled in the engine bay. After a few minutes he removed a part from the top of the engine and held it up. 

“What’s that?” Greg asked, curious. 

“Idle control valve. Got any carb cleaner? Brake cleaner’ll do in a pinch.” Greg shook his head, mystified by it all. Crowley snapped his fingers to summon a spray can, and sprayed it liberally through the valve, poking it a bit then shaking the residue out. 

“That oughta do it. Right, let’s get this back together again…” Crowley replaced the part then had Greg start the car again. After an initial cough, it spluttered into life and ran smoothly. Crowley grinned. “Ok, all done.”

He turned to Angela. “So, figured out what you wanted yet? That one didn’t count as a demand, I didn’t use demonic stuff to do it, if you don’t count the carb cleaner, and that’s not evil either, so you’ve still got one left.”

“Well yeah, my neighbour’s been out of work for months now and she’s really stressing out, she’s struggling to make ends meet. Could you make sure she gets a job, one that she’ll be happy in?”

Crowley sucked his teeth and pulled a face, wondering how he could spin that one as evil. “Eeeeuuuuurggghhh, weeellll….” He caught Aziraphale’s eye and raised an eyebrow. The angel shrugged. “Right Angel, do what she said.”

“Shan’t.”

“Aw, please?”

“‘Aw, please’ is not ‘tempting’ me, Crowley, try harder.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Try again.”

“ _ Fine _ . Do what she said and I’ll bring you brioche in the morning from that lovely little cafe around the corner.”

“That’ll do.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Crowely felt the summoning circle release its hold on him all at once. The angel leant over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “It has to be a proper temptation to count, dearest. Please isn’t enough.”

“How d’you know? Maybe you just wanted Jaffa cakes and brioche.”

“That’s neither here nor there, love, now it’s 3am, let’s get home again shall we? Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Do take care.” Aziraphale wound his arm around Crowley’s slim waist, raised his hand and snapped them home. 


	6. #GOC2020 prompt 4: Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 4 is "Force." We already know that our favourite Principality is a force to be reckoned with, and pretty damn strong. You'd think that would come in handy when moving house, although not neccesarily... 
> 
> More random Ineffable Husbands Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: general audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

Crowley stretched and clicked his spine after placing down the box of books from the moving van. At 6,0000 years old he felt he was getting too long in the tooth for this nonsense. He eyed Aziraphale with a small hint of jealousy (well he _was_ a demon, after all, he was allowed), as the angel hefted an even bigger box of books and carried it into the house seemingly without effort. 

“How about just you stick to carrying the boxes and I’ll stay in here and unpack them?” Crowley grumbled. 

“Oh no, dear, I packed all these books in a very precise order to facilitate ease of re-shelving at the other end, it wouldn’t do to go disorganising my system.”

“Well why don’t you tell me what your system _is_ , and then I can do it?”

“I’m afraid that would take far too long to explain, darling,” Aziraphale shook his head, then set his box down in what was to be the library of the cottage. Crowley rolled his eyes theatrically. 

“How hard can it be to stack shelves with books?” He groaned. 

“Have you ever heard of [ L-space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412357/chapters/51014899) dear?”

Crowley furrowed his brow. “Well, yeeesssss….” he drew out warily.

“And do you know how it works?”

Crowley did a very gallic shrug. “Broadly….”

“And how to stack books of this multitude in such a way as not to cause a rift in the space-time continuum or breach the fabric of reality and open a portal to the dungeon dimensions?”

“... No.”

“There you go then. Unless you want huge monstrous creatures from before the dawn of time slithering around the cottage, I suggest you leave the shelf stacking to me.”

“What d’you mean ‘huge monstrous creatures from before the dawn of time slithering around the cottage?’ _I’M_ a huge monstrous creature from before the dawn of time, and intend to at least _occasionally_ slither around this cottage. And speaking AS a huge monstrous creature from before the dawn of time, I take offence at that, it’s discrimination that is, that’s huge monstrous creature from before the dawn of time-ISM.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at his husband. “Not all such creatures are quite as endearing as you can be, at least with you I know I can make you wipe your boots before coming in with a sufficiently stern look. I’m not sure that would necessarily work on eldritch, sorry, _other_ eldritch beings.”

“Fine. We both bring boxes in, but only you unpack the library ones,” Crowley groused, then took in his husband’s sardonically raised eyebrow and relented. “Sorry, love, just hot, sweaty and tired. I’ll put the kettle on, then we can get the sofa in while it boils then have a brew.” He sauntered through to the kitchen, hopping sideways neatly to avoid a roomba with googly eyes stuck on it.

“Bob! Watch it hellspawn, what did I tell you? It’s not safe for you to be scooting about while we’re unloading the van, you might get trodden on. Go sit on your charging port, or sit in the garden with Lydia*, she’s mowing the back lawn. Far safer out there buddy.”

The little robo vac beeped apologetically and made his way to the back door, nudging his way out through an overly large adapted cat flap set at floor level. Crowley stepped into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on, then rejoined Aziraphale by the moving van and considered the sofa. It was big, and leather, and as ancient as the bookshop itself. It also weighed a bloody ton.

He hefted one end while Aziraphale lifted the other with ease. Crowley shuffled backwards toward the front door of the cottage, navigating up the garden path, carefully avoiding stepping on the flowers along the border of the path. Aziraphale, meanwhile, accidentally trod on one. Crowley stopped and glared at him. 

“You just squished my snapdragon”

“I’m terribly sorry dear, couldn’t see it past the sofa”

Crowley grumbled and carried on, before rapidly coming to the realisation that the doorway of the cottage was rather narrower than the width of the sofa. He hefted his end with difficulty and attempted to twist it to see if it would help any. Aziraphale tried to push forwards, trapping Crowley’s fingers between the sofa and the door. He yelped. “OI! That was my bloody hand!”

“Sorry dear, perhaps if you try piv…”

“NO!” Crowley cut him off sharply. 

“Pardon?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“You do not use the ‘P’ word** when moving a couch. Not now, not ever, or you can make your own bloody tea.”

Aziraphale looked blank. Crowley sighed. “Just back up a bit, let me try something else…”

They did. For several minutes, becoming more exasperated with each attempt. Even the angel’s temper began to fray, and his golden aura began to glow faintly in exasperation. The demon eyed him warily. The angel’s aspect beginning to define itself wasn’t a good sign when he was getting tetchy. The last thing he wanted was for the Principality to smite the sofa.

“Right, Angel, just, lift it a bit higher, then twist it 45 degrees again, then…”

This time Aziraphale yelped as his own fingers were snagged. He grunted in annoyance and then SHOVED. 

There was a horrific crunching crackling sound of snapping timber, and Crowley was promptly shoved back into the hallway by the sofa, which dragged with it the entire door frame, and several bricks of loose masonry. Crowley’s end of the furniture landed on his toe with a thud, bringing a stream of invective so colourful that at least one of the expletives expelled into the air took on a small demonic form of it’s own and fluttered away into the aether on little purple batlike wings.

Aziraphale stood in the broken doorway, surrounded by a thousand blinking blue eyes and a celestial glow, staring aghast down at the sofa on the floor and the ruin of the doorway around it. 

“Ooops.”

Crowley blinked up at him, then rubbed his foot gingerly. “I think…,” he began, cautiously, “... that a cup of tea and an entire packet of jaffa cakes is probably in order about now, don’t you?”

At that, Aziraphale’s extra divine eyes faded and began to literally wink out of existence again and his glow faded in embarrassment. “Um, yes dear, I think, perhaps that would be wise. Sorry darling.”

Crowley hauled himself to his feet, stepped gingerly over the mess of broken wood and brickwork, and wrapped his husband in a gentle hug. “Then while you have your jaffa cakes, I’ll call a local builder.”

Aziraphale gave him a cautiously gentle squeeze back. “Thank you love.”

* * *

Notes:

* [click here for “Roomba of Doom”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) for an explanation of Bob the Roomba and Lydia the Robo Mower with Aziraphale and Crowley.

** “Pivot”, because: [ https://youtu.be/Tam7KO4qhUI](https://youtu.be/Tam7KO4qhUI)


	7. #GOC2020 prompt 5: Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miscommunication between an angel and a demon in the lead up to Armageddon results in Crowley unsupectingly giving Aziraphale more information than he intended to afterwards...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

I said for some of these, to save spoons*, I'm going to occasionally instead link an existing work that fits the prompt.  
  
For this one I'm using one from #IneffableValentines challenge, called "Serenade".

Crowley and Aziraphale dine at the Ritz after Armageddon, and get onto the subject of miscommunication over the preceeding few days, which leads to Crowley giving Aziraphale his old mobile phone to try to get him up to date.

If only Crowley had remembered some of the things he'd left on that phone...

SFW and has all the feels.

** [Click HERE to read.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501036) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> google "spoon theory" for an explantion.


	8. #GOC2020 prompt 6: rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For "Rescue" I'm giving you a chapter from ["Roomba of Doom"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/) a SFW cute fluffy ineffable husbands fic wherein Crowley gets accidentally summoned by a Roomba on a ouija board rug. He ends up giving it sentience and taking it home as a new pet/minion/family member, it is named "Bob". In this chapter, Crowley and Bob find a damsel in distress and rescue her from her predicament. 
> 
> Because I have chronic illness (chronic fatigue as well as chronic pain), and I didn't get to prepare a load of fics in advance like I did with the last challenge I did, I am going to cheat on some of the prompts when I have an existing work which fits. It helps me self-manage my condition by not burning out, and also means I can introduce some new readers to my older works. I hope you don't mind. I'll still be writing some of the prompts fresh though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general  
> Warnings: none

The doorbell went. As usual, Bob was alert and left off watching “Wall-E” to scoot rapidly over to accompany Aziraphale to answer the door, circling him protectively. It was the supermarket groceries delivery. The delivery driver stomped in carrying the first crate of supplies, then she helpfully took it through to the kitchen before heading out again for the next crate while Aziraphale began unpacking stuff into the cupboards. 

Bob beeped in irritation at the trail of dried mud that had flaked off the delivery driver’s boots all over the floor. When she came to the door with the next batch he followed inches behind her heels, vacuuming after her, motor grumbling in a disgruntled fashion. He made a show of scooting over every patch of floor where she moved a foot, and when he thought she had been there long enough, began headbutting her toes and trying to nudge her toward the door. 

“Uh, your vacuum cleaner is behaving a little odd, Mr. Fell…”

Aziraphale looked over from where he was loading the fridge. “Oh, that’s just Bob, don’t mind him, he won’t hurt you. We confiscated his chainsaw.”

The delivery driver laughed nervously, not entirely sure that Mr. Fell was joking. She felt a tugging and looked down. The Roomba had managed to grab the loose end of a shoelace and was shredding it. “HEY!” she yelled and tried to pull back. Bob put the brakes on and braced against her, still tugging at her shoelace angrily. Aziraphale whistled and gave the vacuum cleaner a stern look, causing the little Roomba to sulkily spit out the remains of the shredded shoelace and return to his charging port, his motors making grumpy little grumbling noises the entire way. 

Once the delivery driver had collected the crates and left, Aziraphale stood over Bob and gave him a serious look. Bob pretended to be asleep. 

“I know you’re awake, you little hellion. Now listen, that is _not_ how we treat guests here. You have to be polite, dear boy. Now promise me you won’t try to eat anyone else’s shoelaces.”

Bob stayed silent or a moment. The angel raised an eyebrow. 

Bob let out a quiet, apologetic beep and flashed his blue LEDs once. 

“That’s better. Now be a good boy until your father gets home and he might take you for a walk, ok?”

Bob flashed his lights again in an appeasing pattern and beeped assent. 

Crowley got home an hour or two later. Bob was trundling around the flat with a little train of carriages linked behind him, each one carrying a small pot plant, with a slightly larger one sitting directly on top of his chassis. 

“Angel? Did you make Bob a train?” Crowley called out, incredulously. 

Aziraphale appeared from where he’d been cleaning the bathroom. “Oh, hello dearest, yes I did. I thought it would be a nice way for him to take all the good plants for a ride in one go as a reward, Also he’s working off his punishment for bullying the ocado driver earlier. He was most dreadfully behaved, and he ate her shoelace.”

Crowley sat down and watched the curious little procession circling the lounge. He called out again. “Are you quite sure that _all_ of these plants have been good, Aziraphale? There’s rather a lot of them.”

Aziraphale returned to the kitchen area to pop the kettle on. “Oh yes, they’ve been very good this week, especially Morticia there, and Karen. Eleanor is close to blooming as well so I thought she deserved a little ride out. I left Kevin, Margaret and Eloise behind though, they haven’t been quite so verdant recently, but they’re trying, so I absolutely insist that you not yell at them today. They’re missing out on a ride, that will do.” 

He got out some mugs and tea bags, placed them on the counter, then went through to the plant room, whistling for Bob to follow him so he could return the plants to their rightful places again and unhook his carriages. “Now go and recharge for a bit while we have a cuppa, dear boy, then your father can take you for a walk after tea.” Bob scooted back to his charging port happily and powered down again.

* * *

A little later, Crowley ambled out with Bob trundling to heel for a saunter. The Roomba occasionally made little diversions on the pavement, either to avoid something unpleasant, or to suck up something he enjoyed like a leaf or litter, banishing them to his pocket lint dimension that Crowley had miracled for him so he never needed emptying. 

Crowley scrolled on his phone as he slunk along, not paying complete attention to his little minion, until he heard an urgent beeping from a few feet behind him. He stopped to see what the problem was. 

Bob was halted next to the front gate of a stately looking house with a lawn in the front of it and a gravel driveway. The lawn was higher than the drive so there was a steeply sloped drop-off down to the drive. It was only a few inches high, but apparently enough to have caused a problem for the robot lawn mower which was stuck there. 

Crowley took in the scene, a pitiful vignette of a lost struggle*. The lawn mower, like a larger version of Bob, had clearly grounded out sideways on the drop-off. It’s wheels had gouged frustrated tracks out of the soil where it had tried and failed to regain traction, trying to free itself and get back to it’s charging port, until it ran out of battery. It’s housing was dusty and had leaves scattered over it from the trees. It had clearly been there, forgotten, for some time. 

Crowley looked up at the house. All the shutters were closed and it had a distinct aura of being empty. Presumably one of those owned by a millionaire who rarely ever bothered visiting and only kept a London address for the cachet. Probably the same for the long forgotten and imperilled robo lawn mower abandoned by the driveway. 

Bob was staring at it, bereft. He headbutted the iron railings sadly. The demon sighed. “I guess that stealing someone’s lawn mower probably falls under ‘evil demonic deeds’, Bob. It certainly doesn’t look like anyone cares about it. If they haven’t noticed that it’s been stuck here all this time they probably won’t notice that it’s gone either.” he considered the situation for a moment. He waved a hand at the iron gate which unlocked and swung open at his touch. Crowley looked around for a moment, checked no one was looking, then darted through the gate and tried to heft the robo mower off the edge of the lawn. 

It was heavier than it looked. He grunted and tried again. It was pretty large, easily three times the size of Bob, and way too big to tuck under his arm and saunter off with. He growled and looked at Bob, who was exuding an aura of puppy dog eyed pleading, despite only having some wobbly stick-on googly eyes and flashing LED lights to achieve the effect with. Crowley rolled his own eyes in frustration.

“YES, Bob, I’m working on it, hang on…” He shrugged and snapped his fingers, immediately teleporting the lawn mower back to his apartment. He then shut the gate and sauntered a little quicker away, motioning Bob to follow him. “C’mon, let’s get home, I have to call Uncle Aziraphale and explain to him why I just landed a lawn mower in the lounge.”

Before he could even get his phone out of his pocket again however, it was already ringing. He answered it. “Yes, sorry Angel, I was literally just about to call you and explain…”

When they got home, Aziraphale was sitting on the floor with a cleaning cloth and a spray bottle, methodically wiping down the filthy appliance. He looked up as Bob and Crowley came through the front door. Bob immediately zoomed toward the lawn mower with a flurry of delighted beeps and began circling it, sweeping up clumps of grass that had fallen out of it, and nudging up against it. 

As soon as Aziraphale stood up, Bob started trying to bulldoze the larger machine over to his charging port. Aziraphale looked down and his face crumpled. “Oh, Crowley, will you look at that. Poor dear. No Bob, No, it doesn’t have the same charging port as you, yours won’t work on it. We’ll have to order one. Look, your father can find one online, you’ll just have to be patient.”

Bob spun around and gave a sad little beep. He settled down next to the lawn mower and powered down, as if snuggling up to it. Aziraphale’s eyes met Crowley’s. Crowley shrugged. “I don’t even have a lawn, Angel. Honestly I was winging it, but you should have seen him, I couldn’t leave it there. Besides, anyone could have stolen it. At least it’s got a good home now. I’ll find a charger, you give Bob some crumbs or something to cheer him up in the meantime.” 

Aziraphale gave his demon a kiss and a gentle hug. “Sometimes I think you’re as soft as I am, dear.” Crowley bit at his nose with a playful growl. 

“Nope, big scary demon, me.”

“Of course you are, dearest.”

* * *

The charger arrived with next day delivery. Crowley also invested in a similar solar panel to Bob’s to help boost the device’s power when possible. They plugged it in and left it to charge up. Bob lingered close by until the little amber charging light changed to a steady green. He erupted into a flurry of excited beeps and zoomed over to headbut Aziraphale’s ankle to get his attention. 

The angel looked up from his paperwork. “What is it, dear boy? Oh, your friend’s woken up I suppose. Well I’m afraid that’s the limit of it as far as I know. We haven’t got a lawn for it to mow. I’m not sure how to even make it work for you…” He trailed off, realising his predicament. He couldn’t very well programme the lumbering great beast to mow the living room. It was just a machine anyway, it wasn’t exactly going to interact with the demonic vacuum cleaner. It’d probably just bulldoze him out of the way, then the little creature would be heartbroken. 

The angel stood and stepped over to the lawn mower to consider his options. Bob followed anxiously behind and alternated circling the angel and then the lawn mower. Aziraphale looked at the pair of them and sighed. “I will almost certainly live to regret this…” 

He snapped his fingers. 

Crowley woke to a deep rumbling sound. He grabbed a pillow and held it over his ears trying to drown it out. After a while he gave up, stretched, and reluctantly got out of bed to investigate. He sauntered through to the lounge, which was empty. He continued toward the study where the noise was a little louder. He stopped in the doorway. Bob was spinning excitedly in the middle of the room, while the robo lawn mower was moving methodically over the alphabet board Crowley had drawn on the floor when Bob first moved in. The mower had a little cardboard pointer attached to the leading edge to enable it to point out letters easier with its larger size. Aziraphale was standing watching it carefully. 

“What the hell’s going on, Angel?” Crowley demanded. Aziraphale flapped his hand in Crowley’s direction to indicate he was concentrating.

“Not yet, wait a moment, dear…”

The lawn mower stopped manouvering. Aziraphale smiled at it. “Wonderful, now I wonder, could you possibly disengage your blades while you’re in the house, dear? They do make you rather more noisy than necessary and there’s no grass to cut in here you see.” The mower obediently dropped a couple of decibels to a quiet whir more akin to Bob’s level. Aziraphale patted it affectionately on the bright orange housing. “Thank you, dear. Now, this is Crowley, he rescued you. Crowley, meet Lydia.”

The robo mower turned around to observe the demon carefully. She wheeled forward and nudged his shins gently then backed off again. Crowley supposed it was a thank you. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbled. “Pleased to meet you, Lydia.” He turned to the angel. “Did she just pick it herself?” 

Aziraphale nodded happily. Crowley thought of something and went to rummage in his desk drawer. After a moment he brought out a little packet, triumphant. “Heh, knew I still had a few left.” he extracted a couple of items from the packet, fiddled a moment then stepped over to the mower. “May I..?” he asked, kneeling in front of her. She beeped quietly and inched forward. Crowley stuck a pair of googly eyes to the front of her housing. “That’s better. Now you match Bob.” The demon grinned. “I can’t believe you just made a lawn mower sentient, Angel. At least I’ll have an even better partner in crime to threaten the plants with now.”

“You’ll do no such thing! Lydia, don’t listen to him, you are _not_ to threaten the plants, what a dreadful idea!” He snapped his fingers and summoned a cute little tartan bow which he stuck on the top of Lydia’s curved plastic housing. “There, now you look prettier, dear girl.” Lydia spun in a little circle while Bob zoomed around her, lights flashing happily. 

Crowley sighed and watched the pair of them cavorting. "This is what love is, Bob. Love is dealing with Tartan." He smirked at Aziraphale’s eye roll. “Now, what d’you want for breakfast, Angel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ok, so Lydia's situation is based on a true story. In summer 2018 I took my classic Saab on a roadtrip across Europe to Sweden to visit her birthplace, Trollhattan. Taking an evening stroll to find a local restaurant from our Air BnB, we came across this self same pitiful vignette and it broke my heart, sticking in my mind ever since.
> 
> There was a big empty house, clearly a rather expensive one, with huge gardens and sloping gravel driveway. The lawn next to the drive sloped down steeply about a foot, and a robot lawn mower was stuck there, near the gate, forgotten. It's wheels had dug sad little tracks in the soil as it had tried and failed, presumably for hours, to escape it's predicament, grounded out sideways on the edge of the drop-off to the driveway. It had kept on trying to get home until it's batteries died.
> 
> It sat there, forgotten, covered in dust and dead leaves, apparentley for quite a long time. The house looked closed up and empty, perhaps it's owners live elsewhere and only visit at certain times of year?
> 
> Readers, it took every ounce of my willpower not to get my angel to climb over the gate and rescue that poor stranded robo mower. I still think about it, out there alone in all weathers, waiting for it's owners to return and save it.
> 
> Yes, I have a soft spot for anthropomorphic machinery. And so her story had to be told, and in this fairytale, she DOES get rescued and given the nicest home, loving family and a boyfriend.
> 
> I'm a soft demon.


	9. #GOC2020 prompt 7: Alternate Universe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not one, but TWO AU options of previous works to explore for this prompt, but fear not, tomorrow I have a fresh fic for "Family"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO options here  
> Rating 1: general  
> Rating 2: explicit due to sex scene
> 
> Warnings:  
> fic 1: no warnings apply  
> fic 2: sex

Again I'm using previously published works for this prompt as I have two options for you. (Don't worry I *am* still writing some fresh works for the others, I just can't phsyically do that for all of them this time).  
  
For "Alternate Universe" I have two offerings for you, one is SFW, the other is NSFW.  
  
1: "L-space" is a SFW comedy Discworld crossover fic. Aziraphale gets unexpected visitors in the bookshop, Crowley drops in shortly afterwards, and they embark on an expedition into L-space to save the day at a previous point in history together.

** [CLICK HERE to read.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412357/chapters/51014899) **

* * *

2: "Promises" was an ineffable valentines challenge prompt, it is a condensed slow burn AU where Crowley, a horticulture student, meets Aziraphale, a Theology student when they are at college and university respectively. They make a promise one drunken night, and both thinks the other has forgotten, cue a couple of decades of pining before Crowley finally makes good on his promise. NSFW because sex scene in this one.

** [CLICK HERE to read.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793530) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well today has been BAD. No writing at all for me today. Pain has been about 7-9 all day despite doubling my usual morphine dose, so I’ve been bedbound all day in agony.
> 
> My angel was looking after me though, he brought me Jaffa cakes (well knock off brand ones as I’m allergic to real ones), then made pasta bake for dinner and brought me dinner in bed. 
> 
> Managed to get some rest when the sheer amount of extra pain meds I had to take finally knocked me out for a couple of hours but still hurting. 
> 
> At least I can still use AO3 on my phone while I’m laid out. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone’s lovely comments so far. They’ve really cheered me up today. ❤️


	10. #GOC2020 prompt 8: family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some SFW fluff with Bob the [Roomba Of Doom.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) I decided to to a little crossover because Bob, Crowley's adopted "son" is too cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on [Roomba Of Doom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) an ongoing sfw comedy fluff series with no end point. Backstory: Crowley was accidentally summoned by a roomba on a ouija board carpet. He ended up giving it sentience, and it asked to come home with him. He adopted the roomba and he is named Bob. Later, Bob asked Crowley to help rescue an abandoned robo mower, who Aziraphale then gave sentience to, her name is Lydia. Bob is demonic, naughty and cheeky, Lydia is angelic and a little goody two-shoes. Bob is in love with Lydia.

Crowley rolled over in his sleep and reached over to the other side of the bed, encountering nothing but an expanse of empty sheets. It wasn’t unusual however. Aziraphale didn’t always choose to sleep, so sometimes they’d cuddle until at least Crowley did, then once he was asleep, the angel would get up and go to read or do other things. 

Crowley groped at the bedside table for a bottle of water and found it empty, so with a sigh, decided to get up and refill it in the kitchen. He padded softly down the hall, and heard Aziraphale’s soothing voice from the lounge. He stilled, then, intrigued, crept closer even more quietly, and paused in the doorway, water forgotten. 

Aziraphale was curled up on the sofa with a book in his hands. It wasn’t his usual reading matter, but a brightly coloured children’s book. He could just make out the cover: ‘The impatient little vacuum’ by Yvonne Jones. Bob and Lydia were both sitting on the floor in front of the sofa paying rapt attention to the angel as he read aloud to them, occasionally showing them the pictures in the book. 

He had two plates next to him - one covered in pastry crumbs, the other in fallen leaves. Every now and then he’d sprinkle a few crumbs in front of Bob and a couple of leaves in front of Lydia for them to consume. Of course Lydia only enjoyed chopping vegetation, she didn’t consume it, although it did make her happy. So after she’d buzzed them into mulch, she’d do a little twirl away, Bob would make a quick semicircle over where she’d just been and vacuum up the remains, then she’d twirl back to her original position again. It was like a little dance, like two binary stars spinning around each other but occasionally crossing orbits. Crowley smiled fondly at the thought. 

Aziraphale finished the book then set it aside and reached for another two. He placed one on each knee and talked to the appliances in a low voice. Both of them nudged his right foot so he patted Lydia, then set the book on his left knee aside and opened the one on his right. Crowley thought his heart was about to burst. 

Aziraphale glanced up and spied Crowley in the doorway with a gentle smile, the demon sauntered into the lounge and curled up next to his angel on the sofa, head on his lap with a happy sigh. Aziraphale bent to give him a kiss, then sat up again and began to stroke his hand through Crowely’s short red hair and continued reading in a soothing voice. Crowley drifted to sleep again in his lap while the little Roomba and robo mower sat and listened appreciatively. 

Family is what you make it.


	11. #GOC2020 prompt 9: Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft sweet fluff. Another take on the bus ride home and afterwards. Aziraphale has internal doubts whether he and Crowley want the same thing, until Crowley gently shows him that they do. SFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating: General audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply (kissing only)

“You can stay at my place… if you like.”

Aziraphale’s mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and confusion. It wasn’t even the first time in history that Crowley had uttered those words, but he had always had to dismiss the idea out of hand. This time though, he paused to consider it at least. But indoctrination was hard wired into him. He couldn’t say yes… could he? Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, eyes briefly flicking down to his lips, faltering.

“I d … I don’t think my side would like that” 

Crowley looked soft. 

“You don’t have a side any more. Neither of us do.” He took a breath. “We’re on our own side.”

Crowley raised his hand to hail the bus and stood, glancing down at Aziraphale on the bench with a little smile. Aziraphale hesitated then stood and followed him onto the bus. As they sat down, Crowley’s hand was raised swinging around the metal upright pole by the front pair of seats behind the wheelchair bay. He let go of the pole but his hand remained up for a split second - long enough for Aziraphale to slip his hand into Crowley’s as he sat down. 

Crowley accepted the touch without comment, and their hands fell between their thighs, side by side on the seat, a comforting warmth. Aziraphale’s mind was still in turmoil. He was holding hands with a demon. _He was holding hands with a demon_ . He was about to go back to his best friend’s flat, a _demon’s_ flat, and stay the night. He was so far out of his comfort zone that he was adrift in unchartered waters of convention. 

What had Crowley meant by his invitation? Was it purely platonic, was he to be sleeping on the sofa? Or did the beautiful demon mean something more? Did he want something more? Preposterous, why would he ever want something more from someone as stuffy as a bookshop owning angel with thick thighs and perpetual middle-aged spread? It must be platonic, except…

… Except Crowley’s elegant bony hand was clasped tightly in his own, warm and comforting, and resolutely refusing to let go. Even if Crowely was gazing blankly out of the window as the passing countryside, he still held the angel’s hand as if it were the most important thing in the universe. 

Aziraphale studied Crowley’s graceful profile sharply contrasted against the darkness of the night beyond the window. That beautiful aquiline nose, slightly pouted out lower lip, it looked so soft and kissable. He’d give anything to be allowed to suck and nip at that delectable lip, or to feel it brush over his own skin. He shivered at the thought. 

Crowley must have misconstrued the shiver, as he squeezed his hand a little tighter briefly, and then his thumb was tracing slow soothing circles on the back of Aziraphale’s hand near the joint of his own thumb, just brushing lightly and grounding him. Aziraphale thought he might cry at the tenderness of the touch. Did this mean anything? Surely not? Just an affectionate touch between friends. Did friends hold hands this tenderly? He didn’t know. The only close friendship he’d ever had in the world was with Crowley, and they’d never done this before. 

Did lovers hold hands like this? Aziraphale hadn’t had a lover either, so his sole frame of reference was observations of humans over the centuries. He was beginning to think it was the right answer. But surely Crowley couldn’t feel anything more than friendship for him? The doubt was eating him up inside. He decided to try something. 

Aziraphale settled down in the seat a little more and slumped sideways, then, cautiously, rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The demon tensed for a split second, but then the little circles on the back of his hand continued with another little squeeze. Crowley drew a breath, and then turned his head and pressed a soft kiss into Aziraphale’s pale hair. 

Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his mouth, his pulse skyrocketed, he daren’t open his eyes, but he found the courage to give Crowley’s hand a little squeeze in return, and then felt the demon’s other hand reaching across to stroke his hair soothingly. 

“I’ve got you, Angel.” He murmured close to him before kissing his forehead. Aziraphale relaxed slightly and nuzzled into the smoky scent of Crowley’s jacket, feeling safe. He must have drifted off for a little while, which was not at all like him, but the stresses of the past few days caught up with him and he dozed, snuggled up against the reassuring shape of the demon.

* * *

He woke to another gentle kiss on his forehead. “Angel? We’re home, c’mon.” Aziraphale stirred, sleep confused. 

“Whose?”

Crowley faltered. 

“Mi…,” a fumbled syllable, then: “...ours? If you want? At least for tonight, whatever you want, Angel, c’mon.”

Aziraphale stood, confused, realising that Crowley was standing, still holding his hand, and was waiting for him to step out of the seat space so they could exit the bus. Aziraphale gave him a little anxious smile and stepped forward. The demon kept hold of his hand so he allowed it to move behind his back slightly as they moved through and off the bus. 

He had the presence of mind to discreetly snap his fingers as he exited the vehicle, ensuring that the mildly confused driver would return home unworried, his employers likewise untroubled, and a sizeable chunk of overtime money would mysteriously appear in his bank account. 

Crowley stepped next to the angel’s side and they walked, hand in hand, up the road from the nearest bus stop, to the demon’s apartment building. They entered the lobby, the night guard nodding at them amiably, and Crowley punched the lift button for the penthouse apartment as they got in the lift, then leaned against the wall. 

He idly looked upwards at first, before his eyes met Aziraphale’s in the mirrored wall and he smiled nervously. He squeezed hands again. “You ok?” Aziraphale bit his lip and nodded, then turned to look at Crowely directly. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Despite the soft kisses on his head on the bus, the hand holding, doubts still plagued his mind. 

“Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you, for the...um. On the bus, the…” He trailed off, unsure, his eyes dipping down in uncertainty. Crowley reached up with his other hand to remove his shades then tuck them in his jacket pocket. Aziraphale then felt Crowley’s fingers gently under his chin, lifting his head again to meet his gaze. The demon’s beautiful golden eyes searched his own intently. 

“Was that ok?” Crowley studied him carefully. Aziraphale nodded. A little smile touched the corners of Crowley’s lips again, then he leaned forward to press another kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, it was light and slow, then he lifted off and met the angel’s gaze once more. “Still ok?”

Aziraphale nodded again wordlessly, then raised his own free hand toward Crowely’s face, and brushed the pad of his thumb over that lower lip reverently, Crowley kissed his thumb with a playful smile, then lifted Aziraphale’s chin a fraction more, and brought his own lips down to meet the angels in a soft, brief kiss. 

Aziraphale stood for a moment, his eyes had closed at the instant their lips met, and stayed that way although Crowley had lifted off, until the lift pinged at their floor and he opened his eyes at the same time as the doors, to see Crowley smiling down at him. There was a little tug at his hand, and Crowley led him out of the lift and into his flat. 

Crowley finally let go of his hand after they got into the flat, and Aziraphale felt a pang of regret. He watched as Crowely shrugged off his jacket and hung it up, kicked his boots off and stretched. He felt he should remove his shoes as well, so did, leaving them by the door, then hung his own coat next to Crowley’s jacket, seeing it hanging there, the pale beige next to the demon’s dark just made something strange well up inside him. Hanging there together as if they were meant to be. He glanced down at the two pairs of shoes side by side as well. Just… together.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice snapped him out of his reverie, and he glanced up to see Crowley holding out a tumbler of whisky to him. The angel blinked himself back to the present and accepted it, taking a slow sip, feeling it’s warmth suffusing his corporation as it melted like liquid gold down his throat, aged and mellow. “Sofa?” Crowley invited quietly, with a tip of his head. Aziraphale nodded and followed. He watched Crowley sit down in the middle of the sofa rather than at one end, meaning whichever end Aziraphale chose, he would be closer than he’d usually sit to the demon. Did Crowley want him to sit right next to him? How close? 

He sat, up against the arm of the sofa on one side, but still only a hand’s breadth from Crowley’s thigh. Once he had settled, Crowely shuffled up and leant against him with a comfortable sigh, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then held his tumbler up to Aziraphale’s, chinked the rims and took a sip of his own. “To our own side, Angel.”

Aziraphale, his heart a-flutter, let his hand fall on Crowley’s and gave it a little squeeze before taking another gulp himself. Crowley tipped his head sideways a little to gaze at Aziraphale’s face with a faint smile. Aziraphale lost himself in the demon’s warm golden eyes. “Was the kiss ok, too, Angel?” Crowley asked softly. The angel blushed and nodded. 

Crowley finished his drink and set the crystal tumbler aside on the coffee table, he waved a hand at his stereo system, and an Aretha Franklin song began to play, just at a low volume, quiet and soothing in the background. 

* * *

Aziraphale wrinkled his brow at the lyrics*. He looked at Crowley questioningly. Crowley regarded him seriously. “May I do it again, Angel?” 

“Do what?”

“Kiss you?”

Aziraphale stared back in wonder. This beautiful demon wanted to kiss him, wanted to do it again, wanted to be near him, and kiss him. He set his own drink aside, unfinished and nodded again. “Yes… I…” he didn’t get to finish before Crowley was kissing him again, first as soft and light as in the lift, but then firmer, shifting his position to press himself against Aziraphale, and deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing gently past lips, questing inside, caressing the angel’s tongue in turn, his hand coming up to cradle the back of his head tenderly. 

All the doubts he’d had flew from his mind. He could taste the love pouring through the contact, the purest unadulterated love like golden honey flowing from the demon’s body to his. He recognised the flavour of that love, although he’d never tasted it so directly before. Then he realised.

It was the same cloud of amorphous love he’d been feeling around him since Eden. But distilled, concentrated, and flowing directly from Crowley’s heart to his. It had always been Crowely. Only ever Crowley. A demon, loving an angel. Heaven knew how, but he was. He loved him. He didn’t need the words, he could feel it as easily as he’d feel sunshine on his skin. It was an inescapable truth. Crowley broke off and gazed into his eyes. Aziraphale tried to gather his thoughts. 

“Crowley you… you love me…” He wasn’t even sure himself if it was a statement or a question, he had inflected it as neither. Crowley nodded. 

“Of course I love you, Aziraphale, I always have.”

“But why only now…?”

“Because this might be the last chance I get to show you, Angel. I figure neither of us have anything left to lose after today.” He pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, then his throat, fingers skimming down the other side in a touch that made goosebumps break out all over the angel’s body. He murmured against his skin in between kisses. “Still ok, Aziraphale?”

“Absolutely. Crowley…?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you too.”

“Thought you might.”

Aziraphale pulled back. “Pardon?”

“Well.. hoped anyway. He grinned ‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.’ You have faith, I have hope, we both have love.”

“I never thought I’d see the day that a demon is quoting the bible at me during a seduction.”

Crowley’s face fell slightly. “Not a seduction, Angel. Nothing so sordid. I love you. Whilst getting into your underwear would undoubtedly be delightful, I’ll be just as happy to kiss you and be held by you, Aziraphale. Anything you want.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to imply you were, well, tempting on the clock as it were. Poor choice of words.”

“Definitely not on the clock anymore, neither of us are.” He sighed. “We should get some rest, who knows what’s coming next.” He pecked Aziraphale on the cheek and stood, stretching languidly again, his form sinuous and graceful. The angel stared up at him, mouth open in silent appreciation. “Join me?” Crowley extended a hand down. He took it and stood, following him through to a spacious but tranquil looking bedroom. Crowley let go of his hand and rummaged in the wardrobe for a moment, before passing some folded black silk pyjamas to the angel. 

“Sorry, you might have to miracle them to fit better, I’m gonna grab a quick shower, I stink of smoke. I’ll use the ensuite if you’d like to use the main bathroom? Aziraphale nodded stiffly and watched as Crowley divested himself of his shirt, flinging it in a laundry basket in the corner of the room. It seemed so ridiculously mundane. He tore his eyes away from the demon’s gorgeously lean torso, and made his way back down the hall to the other bathroom there. 

When he came back to the bedroom, feeling rather fresher than he had earlier, he found Crowley already under the cosy looking duvet. He hesitated, then slid in next to him. Crowley rolled over to gaze at his angel. Aziraphale reached out cautiously and stroked his cheek, brushing a finger over the serpent sigil there. Crowley closed his eyes briefly and shivered, then tipped his head slightly to kiss at the angel’s palm with a little smile. 

He wriggled closer and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, tucking his head under the angel’s chin and nuzzling into his neck then breathing deep. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley in return and buried his nose in his hair, smelling the fresh scent of his shampoo. 

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s neck then tipped his head back again. “You mentioned needing to find a receptive body earlier…” Aziraphale looked at him, eyes a little wider. “Not like that, Angel, not unless you want to, anyway. I meant... you did, you possessed someone, you managed it. I reckon we could do it you know. You could take my body, I could take yours, swap. Trick them if they try to kill us. Pretty sure if you were going to make me explode it’d have happened when we kissed.”

Aziraphale considered the thought carefully. “I don’t see what we’ve got to lose.” He beamed at his clever demon, then pressed forward to kiss him as thoroughly as possible. 

* * *

*Angel: Aretha Franklin. 

Gotta find me an angel   
To fly away with me  
Gotta find me an angel   
Ooh and set me free 

My heart is without a whole,  
I don't want to be alone  
I gotta find me an angel (angel)  
In my life, in my life

Too long have I loved  
So unattached within  
So much that I know  
That I need somebody so

So I'll just go on   
Hoping that I find me someone  
Gotta find me an angel   
In my life, in my life

I know there must be someone somewhere for me  
Oh I lived too long oh oh without the love of someone   
There's no misery ooh like the misery I feel in me,

Gotta find me an angel   
In my life (he'll be there, now don't you worry)  
In my life (keep lookin' and just keep cookin')  
In my life (he'll be there, now don't you worry)  
In my life (keep lookin' and just keep cookin')


	12. #GO30Challenge prompt 2 for 8-14th of May week “6000 years”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6,000 years in 6,000 words. (Sorry)
> 
> Crowley keeps things that are special to him. Certain things are more special to him than others. Aziraphale soon learns this fact, and isn't above using it to his advantage now and then. 
> 
> have 6,000 years of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't set out to make this exactly 6,000 words, but it happened. 
> 
> Also, because I was behind on these prompts, I only JUST got this done before midnight today. I wrote 6,000 words in under 24 hours. I kind of wanted to write more after the end but decided it finished nicely where it was.
> 
> rating: general audiences  
> warnings: no warnings apply

Crawly peered out at the unfamiliar rain from under the angel’s wing, the soft patter-patter of raindrops on feathers above him strangely soothing. 

“We should probably get under cover I suppose” Aziraphale muttered reluctantly. He eyed up a tree down in the garden with wide, broad leaves that seemed to be offering some shelter to the deer lying under it. Crawly nodded and spread his own wings wider again to glide down. Aziraphale followed, and as he landed and tucked his wings against his back again, the demon spotted a single loose white feather flutter loose. 

Without quite knowing why, he reached out to pluck it from the air. He studied it for a moment while Aziraphale petted the doe under the tree, then quickly hid it in the sleeve of his robe when the angel turned around. “Are you alright there, Crawly?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes, thanks.” He shuffled closer to the trunk. The stag rose and eyed him warily with a snort. The doe looked like she was about to follow suit before the angel soothed the pair of them with a small miracle. He sat down on a tree root and indicated that the demon could join him. Crawly sank down gratefully. They talked for a while. 

As the rain eased, Aziraphale looked up in alarm. “I think you’d better be going, Crawly. I think Michael is heading over this way, and it wouldn’t do for you to be found here with me.”

Crawly stood up reluctantly and nodded. “Uh, thanks. See you round maybe.” He ventured a small smile at the angel, dipped his head and made himself scarce. Aziraphale gave him a little wave, then remembered that he had a hole in the wall to fix still. He made his way to the Eastern wall.

* * *

It was a few decades later. Crawly smelled something familiar on the air. He flicked his tongue out with interest, trying to recall where he recognised it from. It was tantalising and elusive. It reminded him of vanilla and warm spices, slightly sweet like honey. He followed the scent for a while, coming upon a small village. The scent was stronger there, and kept growing more distinct until he reached a mud hut which had a few worried looking people loitering outside. 

“Everything ok?” He asked an older man sitting near the door. 

“My daughter is inside, having her first child, we thought we might lose her, the birth was difficult, but then there was a white light above the house, and she regained consciousness. It’s a miracle. Mother and baby are alive, we will be sacrificing a goat tomorrow in thanks.”

Crawly nodded in understanding. He left the family chatting and celebrating by the front door and ambled around the back where the smell got even stronger, and found the steps to the flat roof. He climbed up and surveyed the roof, used as a work and storage area. In the middle of a straw mat he spotted a single bright white feather. He picked it up and sniffed it - the scent strongest on the feather. 

Angel. It was the angel of the Eastern Gate. That’s where he’d smelled that before. He must have been doing a miracle here and left a feather behind when he flew away. 

Crawly made a small movement with his left hand and reached into a little pocket dimension where he occasionally stored things, then withdrew the feather he’d picked up that day in Eden. He compared the two. They were identical. With a happy little smile, he added the new feather to the old one and stowed them away safely in the aether again.

* * *

“Hello Aziraphale!” Crawly was delighted to see the angel again at the ark, although his delight quickly soured with the information Aziraphale imparted to him about the plan. He scrutinised the children as cogs turned in his head. He couldn’t let this happen. He wandered away from the main holding area for the animals and miracled up a big tray of sweet halva to tempt some of the kids over, putting his demonic wiles to good use. At least he could tempt them to safety. 

Once the ark was loaded and closed up, Crawly began to put his plan into action. The rain was hammering down and he began to fly the children two at a time to high ground. He didn’t care that humans were seeing his wings, that was past importance right now, nobody cared. Once the children he’d gathered near the ark were moved to a safer area, he began to fly around in the dark seeking out more. 

He found parents on rooftops trying to escape the rapidly rising flood waters. Mothers held up their babies and children to him in desperation, not caring who or what he was, only that he was the last hope they had. He rescued as many as he could. His wings ached with the effort of nonstop flying back and forth so laden down, then he glimpsed something pale in the torrential downpour, closing in on him fast. He cursed and held the two toddlers in his arms tighter. It was an angel.

He pushed on faster, determined to get at least these two to safety before the smiting started. Crawly glanced behind and saw the pale shape gaining on him. He growled and renewed his efforts. At least in the dark he had an advantage. He had enough height to pull it off - he pitched into a steep barrelling dive to try to lose his pursuer, but the children began screaming at the sensation. 

“Hush, hush, it’s ok, you’ll be safe soon, shush little ones…” but they were inconsolable. He levelled out, skimming over the waves and glanced up to see if he’d lost his pursuer, unfortunately not - the angel was still after him. He cursed and decided to just concentrate on getting back to the high ground, steeling himself for whatever fight might happen after he’d landed. He’d defend the kids somehow. 

He swept his wings upward again, the rain in his eyes almost blinding, freezing cold, and eventually saw the distant glow of the log fire he’d started to keep the other kids warm on the mountaintop. He’d miracled the fire not to go out, and about fifty children of various ages were huddled around it. Crawly landed roughly and stumbled, shoving the toddlers toward the group. An older girl rushed forward to sweep them up and bring them closer to the fire. Crawly stood straighter and turned to face his pursuer. 

Aziraphale landed, skidded on the mud and fell over. Crawly stared at him in shock. “Aziraphale! What the devil are you doing here? If you harm a hair on these kid’s heads I’ll take you down, don’t think I won’t.” The angel looked up, looking thoroughly hurt at the implication, and righted himself, miracling the mud away from his robe fussily. 

“Hardly, Crawly. I’m here to help. I saw what you were doing. No one must know I’m here, but I’ll do what I can.” The demon regarded him incredulously. 

“But I’m defying God’s will. You can’t be part of this, Angel.”

Aziraphale watched the children quietly for a moment, thinking. “...So you’re going to care for them are you?” Crawly nodded warily. 

“At least until the water subsides, then the older kids can help care for the younger ones.”

“A demon could do any amount of evil indoctrination on impressionable young minds. It’d be my duty to balance that out with angelic influences so that these innocent children are not turned to the dark side and damned.” Aziraphale smiled slightly, then snapped up a big pot of stew over the fire and a basket of bread loaves. Crawly allowed a grudging smile to slightly crease the corner of his lips. 

“Well help me make another flight then, I’m sure there might be more we can still rescue, come on, Angel.”

They made another few trips until they could no longer find any survivors, and turned away from the sight of the ones they had failed to get to in time floating on the waters. Grim faced, Crawly turned back toward the mountain with the last child he’d been able to pluck from the branches of a tree, and made his way back, as Aziraphale carried two more. 

They landed, exhausted, and Aziraphale miracled up a fresh batch of hot stew for the newcomers, as Crawly set about building a shelter for the night and miracling up warm blankets for them all. After the children were fed, Aziraphale helped him finish the shelter. Soon both of them were covered in slick mud as well as drenched through. They ushered the kids into the makeshift shelter then sat under the overhang staring at the fire. Crawly’s wings sagged with exhaustion. He hadn’t bothered banishing them, instead using them as extra limbs to support logs and branches as he fixed pieces of the shelter together. 

As he sat and gazed into the fire, the flames dancing in his lambent golden eyes, he felt a gentle hand on his wing. He startled and flinched sideways, staring in shock at the angel who lifted his hand up apologetically. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Crawly. I was just setting some of your feathers to rights, sorry I should have asked first, that was awfully rude of me, please forgive me…”

Crawly blinked and tried to find words. “No, no… it’s ok. Just… surprised me, that’s all.” He settled again, then cautiously extended his wing closer to the angel. “You can, if you like.” Aziraphale smiled gently, then took the edge of Crawly’s wing in his hands again, and began smoothing his feathers out, running deft fingers along the vane of each feather, smoothing the barbs back together. Crawly gradually relaxed under the touch. He began to grow sleepy and miracled up a straw stuffed pad. He lay face down on it while Aziraphale continued putting his plumage to rights, drifting off. 

Eventually he felt the angel arranging his own black wings around his body like a blanket, then sleepily inched his eyes open to see Aziraphale, backlit by the flickering flames, beginning to groom his own wings. A single white feather fluttered down and landed near Crawly’s head. He carefully slipped his hand up and tucked it under his robe before drifting back off to sleep.

* * *

The crucifixion was over. Crowley sat on an outcrop of rock overlooking the now empty crosses. They’d taken the deceased down, and they’d been taken to their tombs. Tears streaked her face. She hadn’t wanted to cry in front of Aziraphale. She’d known the boy, talked to him, shown him all the kingdoms of the world. She couldn’t help the tears. 

Suddenly she got a whiff of that scent again - Aziraphale. Crowely hastily sniffed and tried to use the hem of her abaya to wipe her eyes, before she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn’t turn around, not wanting Aziraphale to see her eyes. He didn’t appear to mind. 

“You might want to check the tomb in a couple of days.” The angel murmured, then gave her shoulder a squeeze and left as silently as he had come. Mystified, Crowley turned to see where he’d gone, but saw no trace of the angel. 

Sure enough a few days later Crowley joined the crowd who had gathered around the tomb to see the huge stone rolled away from the entrance, it was empty. No one could work out what had happened, but the demon slunk forward through the puzzled throng until she could see the entrance for herself. No one man was strong enough to move that stone alone, it took a load of strong humans to seal a tomb like that. She moved closer to the enormous rock, and saw something bright white on the ground next to it. She bent and picked it up. A single white feather. With a smile, she tucked it into the sleeve of her abaya.

* * *

Crowley considered Aziraphale as they staggered back along the streets of Rome to the angel’s rented rooms. The oysters had been frankly disgusting as far as Crowley was concerned, but Aziraphale appeared to have enjoyed them. It had been nice, watching him enjoy himself. It felt like … friendship. Yes, friendship he supposed. Aziraphale had invited the demon to spend time with him. True, Crowley was utterly smitten and would have given anything for much more from Aziraphale, but in the absence of that, friendship was more than enough for now. 

They got back to Aziraphale’s lodgings and he broke the wax seal on an amphora of wine, pouring out a generous cup for Crowley as they sat and talked, the angel considerably more relaxed than usual and happy to chatter away. Crowley mostly listened, rapt. His gaze was drawn, after a little while, to the table littered with scrolls. Where there were scrolls of course, there were quills. He noticed a few in a pot, one ink stained one lying by a scroll currently being written, then another couple uncut to one side by a small pen knife. 

The feathers were gleaming white and even from here, Crowley could taste the scent on them - they were the angel’s own. He noticed one on the floor, a quill with the tip stained in old ink whose nib had splintered into unusable shreds and had been discarded. When Aziraphale took Crowley’s cup to refill it again, the demon quickly reached down to collect the broken quill and hid it in his sleeve. Another drink later he said his goodnights and took his leave.

* * *

The Black Knight sighed into his cup of ale. Seeing Aziraphale had stirred up a yearning in him which he just couldn’t shake off. He resolved to find the angel again. Setting his armour aside for the evening, he set out, using his superior sense of smell to track down the angel to a small tavern a few miles away. He found him in the stables rubbing down his grey mare. 

“You know the stable boy would do that for you, Angel” He remarked idly, leaning on the door frame. Aziraphale jumped, startled, making the horse flinch in surprise as well. 

“Good Lord, you frightened me, Crowley!” He regarded the brush in his hand and carried on grooming his mare. “It’s good for bonding with your horse, maybe you should try it sometime, it might make you less apt to fall off.” The comment wasn’t barbed and had a good natured smile to accompany it, a smile the demon returned as he ambled closer. The horse pinned her ears at him and threatened a bite until he backed off to a safe distance again. 

He watched the angel grooming the horse quietly for a little while, and then, in the quiet of the dimly lit stable, sat on a hay bale, shook his dark wings out and began to preen them a little. Aziraphale paused to watch, barely hiding his admiration for the demon’s glossy plumage. Crowley looked up. “What? Seeing you doing that reminded me my wings needed a bit of a groom as well, don’t mind me.”

Aziraphale returned to his task, watching Crowley from the corner of his eye, until the demon got to trying to reach his scapulars, twisting and grunting with difficulty trying to get behind his own shoulder blades. After a few minutes of this, Aziraphale set his brush aside with a frustrated sigh of exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, Crowley, let me…” He stepped over and behind the demon, reaching out to begin smoothing the smaller feathers closer to Crowley’s back. Crowley sighed and relaxed into the touch with a faint smile. Temptation accomplished again. 

“Thanks, Aziraphale, that feels good.” He hadn’t felt this since the ark, and had absolutely meant to try to manipulate the angel into doing it again. Once his own wings were set to rights he met Aziraphale’s gaze. “May I… do yours for you?”

The angel hesitated, unsure, it had crossed his mind. He cast his gaze around the stable, deserted save for the horses in each standing stall. He regarded his friend sitting there with a faint hopeful look on his face, and relented. He shook his wings out with a shiver then pulled another haybale up in front of Crowley and sat down, ignoring his instincts which screamed at him for turning his back on a demon. He settled and waited. 

Crowley regarded the beautiful pale feathers before him with reverence, hesitating to touch them, before steeling himself and finally reaching out to run his fingers through the soft plumage, noticing the angel shivering faintly at the gentle caress. He tried to focus on the task and began smoothing each feather with nimble fingers, and occasionally plucking out a loose feather that was being shed anyway. He miracled each one in turn to his pocket dimension without comment. 

After a while, he could no longer pretend that what he was doing was still necessary, he’d spent far too much time and Aziraphale’s wings were beyond perfect, he was just grooming them for the sake of it now, not wanting the experience to end. The angel probably knew this but allowed him to continue anyway. His hands wandered to his shoulderblades and began to massage gently, until Aziraphale let out a very quiet moan of satisfaction, and then stiffened, embarrassed at allowing his feelings to become so audible. Crowley’s hands paused in their attentions as the angel froze, and then stood slowly. 

“Um, thank you, Crowley, that was… most gracious of you. I really must be getting back to my chambers now, my squire will be wondering what became of me, and it wouldn’t do for us to be found together really.”

Crowley stood and brushed the hay off his hose and jerkin, trying not to meet the angel’s gaze. “Quite, sorry, yes. Um. I’ll be seeing you then?”

“Perhaps. Do take care.” With that, Aziraphale lifted the glass on the stable lamp to extinguish the candle and strode out. Crowley sighed and left. At least the angel hadn’t questioned where his feathers had gone.

* * *

Crowley extended an invitation to Aziraphale after he heard the angel had got back from Edinburgh. “Globe theatre, come and see, Tuesday evening.” He waited by the main doors until he smelled Aziraphale approaching then sidled up next to him. “Hello, Aziraphale, how was Edinburgh?” 

Aziraphale jumped slightly. “Oh! Crowely, you surprised me. I was searching the crowd for you, what a crowd it is as well!” The demon grinned. 

“‘Course it is, I told you I’d take care of this one for you. The line out the door there, that’s all for Hamlet. C’mon, I’ve got us a place with a good view.” Aziraphale followed him to an area near the front of the stage where they had a good view. Crowley stood by him the entire performance, feigning boredom, but secretly enjoying the entire performance while furiously pretending not to. 

At the end of the performance, Crowley produced a copy of the script and passed it to the angel with a flourish. “Gift from the playwright himself, I’m sure I could ask him to sign it for you as well if you like?” Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Oh Crowley, how thoughtful of you, yes, let’s go and congratulate him.” They chatted with Will for a bit, until Crowley asked if he’d mind signing Aziraphale’s copy of the script for him. 

“Certainly, do you have a quill?”

Crowley raised a questioning eyebrow at the angel, who discreetly snapped one of his own to his fingers behind his back, as Crowley hoped he might. Crowley snapped up a small ink pot and passed it over. Afterwards he deftly took all the items back off the bard and inspected the signature with a smile before handing the script back to Aziraphale and smoothly pocketing the ink and quill himself. The angel was so enamoured with his new acquisition that he didn’t notice the loss of his quill.

* * *

Crowley considered the angel sitting opposite him devouring crêpes, the slight redness still encircling his wrists from the shackles in the Bastille. “So, how are you getting back to blighty then?” Aziraphale looked up, still chewing, and swallowed. 

“Oh, same way I got here I suppose, wait until nightfall then fly back across the channel, so much safer and faster than ships.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, so long as we aren’t seen.”

They got a carriage to the coast after dinner, and after sundown, spread their wings and launched off into the night sky side by side. It didn’t take too long before they touched down near Dover. Crowley took the opportunity to step closer to the angel and began to smooth his feathers down for him again, delighting to find a small semiplume coming loose which he tucked in his sleeve. “All sorted, Angel. No more gallivanting off to France again, eh? See you around.” With a fond smile he was gone into the night, leaving Aziraphale to his own devices.

* * *

Crowley stormed back into his lodgings in a fury. “Fraternising” indeed! He removed his hat and flung it across the room. Enough of this blessed nonsense. He was going to sleep. To sleep and forget it all for as long as possible. He looked down at his shaking hands, trying to compose himself. He sat down on the bed and breathed deep. There was the thing that always calmed him down, but under the circumstances he didn’t know if it’d have the same effect. 

He undressed and donned his nightwear then sat up against the bedhead and tried to relax. He reached into the pocket dimension and withdrew a small handful of white feathers, then breathed in their comforting scent, grounding him and instantly calming him. He selected one and banished the rest again, settled down under the covers and laid the single white feather on the pillow next to his head where he could see and smell it, then drifted off.

* * *

“Lift home?”

Crowley stepped over the rubble to the miraculously unharmed Bentley, and glanced back over his shoulder to see Azirpahale standing there, dumbfounded, clutching the bag of books with a curious expression on his face. Crowley wasn’t so naive as to miss what that expression conveyed, and smiled to himself, then opened the passenger door and waited for the angel to make his way over. 

“Oh I say, what a splendid car, Crowley. When did you get this?”

“A few years ago, before the war. Back to the bookshop?”

“Oh, yes. Yes please.” Aziraphale settled himself into the passenger seat, still clutching the bag of books, in a daze. Crowley sat down in the driver’s seat and hissed gently as he depressed the clutch, wincing at the pain in his burned feet.

“Are you quite alright, Crowley?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, fine, no problem. Let’s get you home eh?” He flicked on the headlights, they emitted only narrow slits of light on the road ahead due to the headlight covers mandated during wartime, although the brightly painted white and black kerbstones helped at least see the edges of the road in the dark. In deference to the human’s difficulties navigating in the blackout, Crowley drove at a reasonable speed even though his own night vision was vastly superior. He also thought that the angel was rattled enough for one evening.

As Aziraphale stepped from the car, he noticed Crowley limping his way to the door of the bookshop. He suddenly realised why the demon had been wincing and hissing with every gear change and press of the brake. “Oh Crowley, your feet!”

“I’m fine, Angel.”

“No you’re not, come in, let me do something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Indulge me. You have a drink of some of the wine I have laid down, and let me at least look at your feet.” He gave a sly smile. “And perhaps I might ask you to give my wings quick going over afterwards.” He wasn’t completely oblivious, and if that’s the bribery it took to get the demon to consent to having his feet treated, then he’d do whatever was needed. Crowley capitulated. 

“Alright, you can check them out. Fine.”

Aziraphale allowed himself a discreet smug smile and unlocked the shop. He set the books aside carefully then indicated that Crowley should make himself comfortable on the sofa while he went to fetch a basin of water and dettol antiseptic, cotton wool and some burn ointment. The celestial burns to the demon’s feet certainly wouldn’t be able to be healed by miraculous means, if anything any attempt would likely make them substantially worse. He knelt down in front of the demon and spread a towel across his lap.

“May I remove your shoes, dear?”

Crowley hesitated. “Um…”

“I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

Crowley’s face went through a strangled mix of emotions. “‘S’not that, Angel.” he muttered, uncomfortable. He caught Azirpahale’s kind but definitely stern look. “Fine.” Let the angel see. He’d been careful for millennia never to allow the soles of his feet to be glimpsed by people, and had miracled the thought out of the heads of any who had. He sat back and allowed Aziraphale to gently unlace his shoes and slide them off, wincing at the pain. 

The socks were worse. They clung to his blistered feet and pulled at the burned skin painfully. Azirpahale pulled the basin closer, dropped a little dettol into the water making it go cloudy, then put Crowley’s socked feet straight into the water to soak first. He stood and fetched a bottle of whisky from the cabinet, filling a tumbler with a few very generous measures and handing it to Crowley, then passing him the bottle. “This is going to hurt, I’m afraid.”

“Already does, Angel, that stuff in the water burns too.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done.”

Crowley gulped down the entire tumbler, then set it aside and swigged a bit more directly from the bottle in preparation. Aziraphale gave him a slightly disapproving look, but relented and retook his position on the carpet, spreading the towel across his knees again, then undid his cufflinks, popped them into the pocket of his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves. Crowley swallowed nervously at the sight. 

Next, he reached into the water and gently began to ease one of the black socks off Crowley’s foot, making him hiss out in pain and claw at the throw over the leather sofa. Aziraphale winced and stared aghast at the demon’s foot before him, casting the sock aside. The top of his feet were fairly normal skin, but graduated to small scales at the sides, and to broader, thicker scales at the sole, which were blistered and weeping. He glanced up at Crowley. 

“I’m so sorry, Crowley, pop your foot back in the water again while I get the sock off the other one dearest…” Not a word about the scales, Crowley noted through the pain. He allowed the angel to peel the sock from the other foot and place it back in the dish before removing the first and patting it dry gently with a towel, then slathering some soothing burn ointment on it. “This has witch hazel in it, and aloe vera. It should soothe the burn somewhat.”

He wrapped the foot gently in a fresh bandage over the ointment then picked up the other to start on that. Crowley shifted on the seat and gulped a bit more whisky. “They don’t bother you?”

Aziraphale didn’t look up from his ministrations. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve seen burns or treated wounds, Crowley.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Crowley, you may be a demon and a serpent, but you’re also my best friend. You saved my life tonight, despite what you think you are, or what you’ve been told you are. It matters not one jot to me how your serpentine aspect manifests on your corporation, neither of us are human after all. Why should it bother me?”

Crowley shrugged. “‘S just not nice.”

“Well you seem so fond of telling me that you’re not nice in general, yet I shall persist in believing otherwise dear, now stop wriggling while I finish this bandage, will you?” 

Aziraphale finished and lifted Crowley’s feet and legs up, spinning him gently but firmly sideways on the sofa until his ankles were resting on the arm of the sofa, elevated, then bustled about tidying the medical equipment away. “Pour me one of those would you, dear?” He nodded at the bottle. Crowley complied and handed the tumbler over. 

Aziraphale took a sip and regarded the demon steadily. “You should stay here tonight, give those feet time to heal a little, I don’t want you driving, let alone walking home on those.”

“Yes, nurse” Crowley grinned. He Swigged a bit more alcohol. “You promised me wings, Angel.”

Aziraphale sighed. “So I did. Very well.” He drew up a chair and sat backwards on it next to the sofa, his back to the demon again, shaking his wings out, content that at least this might distract Crowley long enough that he might stay, perhaps fall asleep and not go rushing off and injuring his feet more. Feet he’d horrifically injured while saving Aziraphale. He glanced at the bag of books in the corner with a little smile, and felt Crowley’s fingers sink into his feathers, relaxing his shoulders down at the soothing contact. 

Aziraphale rested his arms on the back of the chair then rested his chin on his arms, extending his wings back to Crowley on the sofa behind him so he didn’t have to stretch to groom them, keeping his feet up on the arm of the sofa. Whenever he felt the demon stretching a little too far, he’d adjust his own position accordingly to keep Crowley where he was by keeping his wings in easy reach. 

After a while, Crowley gave his plumage one final stroke and lounged back. “All done.” He murmured. Azirphale glanced over his shoulder at the demon, clearly now tired. He stood, shook his wings away and fetched a blanket and pillow from upstairs. By the time he got back down, Crowley was already asleep. Azirpahale gently lifted his head and tucked the pillow underneath it, then glimpsed a single white feather held in one of Crowley’s hands. He smiled fondly, then laid the blanket over him, and went to read.

* * *

Crowley watched Aziraphale close the car door and walk away, then considered the thermos in his hands. A few layers of plastic and glass separating his fingers from a measure of certain doom. He stroked it carefully, marvelling at the closeness of the holy water being held in his hands - a demon’s hands. He gave a little shudder. 

Then something caught his attention from the corner of his eye…

A single white feather left on the passenger seat of the Bentley. 

Aziraphale obviously had not had his wings out in the car. And yet… a feather. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley…_

… But the feather. 

A gift. Hope. Perhaps a promise without words. 

_A picnic… or dine at the Ritz..._

Crowley smiled, carefully set the thermos aside in the passenger footwell, put the Bentley in gear, eased up the clutch and drove off. He reached across and picked up the feather as he drove, running it under his nose, breathing in the comforting scent, then tucked it in his jacket pocket with a smile.

* * *

When he stopped time, Crowley set them aside in a bubble of null-time, on a different plane of reality to the rest of the world for a moment. True, he could do this without taking them off Earth entirely, as he had in the Bastille, but he needed room to think for a second, to be able to talk to the Antichrist without any distractions. 

He wasn’t sure if it was subconscious or not that he chose to set them down on an ethereal plane where their wings would also be manifested. Where their wings existed when not in use. He was mildly surprised to see that Adam had none. He’d expect the son of Satan to also show his angelic provenance with some characteristics, but the kid was surprisingly normal. He’d never asked how the baby had come into being, he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer anyway if he had. He tried to concentrate on the task in hand. 

But as Azirpahale spoke, Crowley took the opportunity to glance across at his glorious wings, so seldom seen. Knowing he’d touched them, been _allowed_ to touch them. He ached to be allowed to carry on touching them, if only this kid could save them all, and give him the opportunity to do so, to carry on loving his angel, and to have a world to love him in. 

He reached out to take Adam’s hand, braced himself, and swung the starting handle as he allowed them to slip back into reality again, and time to commence flowing once more...

* * *

After the Ritz, they’d gone back to the bookshop so Aziraphale could see how Adam had restored it. He wandered around, touching each book as if it were an old friend, and raising an eyebrow at the new acquisitions that the antichrist had supplied, all first editions in mint condition of course. Crowley smiled and watched the angel taking it all in. He removed his shades and tucked them into his jacket pocket. 

Crowley’s gaze alighted on something he hadn’t spotted earlier either. On the desk, leaning against a stack of books, a single, glossy black feather. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was inspecting another new book carefully, then made his way over to the desk and picked the feather up. He held it to his nose, and his own familiar scent of smoke, leather and warm spice assailed his nostrils. 

Crowley glanced up and met Aziraphale’s gaze. The angel looked uncertain. 

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s usually shut away in the drawer but I must have had it out when I was researching Agnes’ book, it made me feel… grounded I suppose.” Aziraphale shrugged and set his book aside. “When I’m stressed I do tend to bring it out to calm me down.” He reached out a hand toward the demon. Crowley placed the feather in his hand and looked at his own feet. 

“I kind of do the same.” 

He heard Aziraphale chuckle softly, and looked up to see the softest smile on the angel’s features. “I know, dearest. I had noticed, now and then.”

Crowley looked briefly guilty. “And… the one in the Bentley, after the thermos?”

Aziraphale stepped closer to him and reached out to take his hand. “A gift. To give you hope.”

Crowley stared down at his hand, held so softly in the angel’s, afraid to move lest he break whatever spell was going on here. “... Hope?”

Aziraphale nodded and took another half step closer, now in Crowley’s personal space. He sought out the demon’s gaze patiently, until Crowley raised his eyes, uncertain, to meet the angel’s. “Well we did dine at the Ritz, didn’t we?” Aziraphale reminded him gently. Crowley returned the smile. 

“We did.”

“And you said it yourself, we’re on our own side now.”

“I did.”

“Out of interest, how many feathers did you squirrel away anyway?”

Crowley laughed. “Easier to show you.” There’d been more instances than he could even remember if he was honest. He snapped his fingers and summoned them all from the pocket dimension. 

6,000 years worth of white angel feathers cascaded down on the pair of them in a silent flurry, all sizes, from large primaries down to a multitude of downy soft semiplumes, left here and there and carefully collected. 

Aziraphale smiled and kissed him.


	13. #GOC2020 prompt 10: Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a short SFW ficlet on the prompt "Miracle". Crowley tries some experiments as he has an idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating: general audiences  
> warnings: no warnings apply

Crowley steeled himself. He could do this. It’d been thousands of years, but he could do this, he could remember, if he tried hard enough, to recall what it felt like. To sneakily pull the power  _ down  _ rather than  _ up _ , he was amazed it even worked if he was honest, it felt like stealing, like sneaking in the back door while nobody was looking and taking something he shouldn’t have access to any more. 

And yet for whatever reason, it wasn’t closed off to him. Perhaps nobody thought there was a reason to take that away from demons when they fell. After all, why  _ would  _ any demon want to do good? He braced, and tried. The first time had been brief and hesitant, a split second miracle of something unobtrusive, just a simple ball of light. No one could object to using the divine power for something so benign, could they? He considered for a moment. Ok, so maybe they could, but stuff it. The light had been for a fraction of a second as he braced himself for possible repercussions or pain, but nothing happened. 

Now to try something proper with it.

He eyed up the elderly woman sitting begging at the side of the cobbled street, a hacking cough racking her chest in painful spasms. Consumption no doubt. He hid in a doorway and concentrated. 

He snapped. 

The woman stopped coughing and drew a long breath, as if waiting for something painful, but then, surprised, took another clear breath, and smiled. Crowley relaxed slightly. He’d done it. It worked. 

He wondered then if the angel would be able to do to the opposite, to draw some power up from below. He wondered if he could make this work. Even if Aziraphale couldn’t draw occult power, he could still maybe do simple temptations, they were just words, after all. Words, actions, attitude. Heaven knew the angel was capable of persuading Crowley into things when he wanted anyway, he had his own ways of getting what he wanted. It’d be easy enough for him to use those powers of persuasion on humans. 

Maybe they could make this work. Make some sort of Arrangement out of it.

The Black Knight smiled to himself, and headed out of town, back to the wilds of the forest. He was sure the angel was in the area somewhere, searching him out. Well let him find the Black Knight. They were a few centuries overdue for a chat anyway. 


	14. #GOC2020 prompt 11: Old Fashioned (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes a break from work on a trip to New York and has a drink at a bar, when things take a rather unexpected turn (or do they?)  
>  **This is the first NSFW chapter in this set of prompts, rated EXPLICIT. Masc Aziraphale, Femme Crowley.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In these prompts I've done mostly SFW comedy and fluff so far, but for some prompts I have written NSFW ficlets, which includes sex and/or angst. This is the first **NSFW** chapter, so proceed with caution.  
>  **  
> RATING: EXPLICIT  
>  WARNINGS: SEX (consensual)  
> **

Aziraphale sighed and took a seat at the nearly deserted bar, he’d been sent to New York. The demands for blessings from above were coming thick and fast and he was exhausted. He slapped some notes on the bar without looking up at the barmaid and asked her to give him something drinkable. 

She took in the sight of his rather old fashioned clothing and smiled. “I know just the thing” she murmured, and selected a clean glass. Aziraphale watched as she placed a sugar cube in the bottom, picked up a bottle of Angostura bitters and splashed a little over the sugar cube and a dash of water then muddled it together, added a couple of cubes of ice then topped it off with whiskey rye and a slice of lemon rind, then finished with a maraschino cherry on a cocktail stick. She turned and placed the glass* in front of the angel.

He took it without looking up and stared at his notebook, taking a sip. It was rather nice. He sighed and crossed a few items off the list, and then turned to another page, sighed again and added a few more new items on the bottom. 

“Want to talk about it?” the barmaid’s voice was low and sultry as she leaned on the bar next to him. It was a quiet night with only one or two other patrons in the place. Aziraphale looked up in mild surprise, and then nearly fell off his barstool. 

“Crowley?” He gasped incredulously. She stood behind the bar, copper hair fell in glossy cascades over her shoulder, wearing a long black dress and customary shades, with a bright slick of scarlet lipstick marking her smirk. 

“Aziraphale,” she purred in reply. “What’s a nice place like you doing in an angel like this?” She chuckled at his discomfiture. 

“I might well ask the same of you,” he huffed indignantly. 

“Temptation, Angel. Working here a few weeks waiting for some politician or other to wander into his favourite haunt, and then…” She plucked the cocktail stick from his glass and placed the cherry to her lips, then sucked it off seductively. “... Then I do this.” She winked and smiled at him. Aziraphale swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Must you, dear?”

“Of course, ‘s what my job’s all about, remember.”

“I mean… at me.”

“Gotta keep in practise somehow, Angel. Tell me, is it working?”

“That is neither here nor there, foul temptress.”

“Oh but it is.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale warned in a low growl “Not again.”

She pouted. “Well you enjoyed it enough last time you stumbled upon one of my seductions, Angel. Most distracting you were too. I almost missed my mark thanks to you.” She pinned him with a challenging gaze over her dipped shades. “One might almost think you were following me around…”

“Preposterous.”

“Then why are you here? Of all the bars in all the world and you had to walk into mine.”

“It’s coincidence.”

“Sure it is.” She stepped to the end of the bar, lifted the hatch and slinked toward where Aziraphale sat on his bar stool, then leaned seductively against the bar on his side, resting one high heeled shoe on the brass rail at the bottom, her elbows behind her on the bar, and tipped her head back, exposing her long pale throat, then tipped her head sideways to regard the angel and licked her lips with a wink. 

“Stop it you foul fiend.”

“Shan’t. Can’t. Not with you looking all handsome at me like that. It does certain things to a girl…”

“Behave, enough of this nonsense Crowley, I told you last time, besides, this is far too public.”

Crowley smirked and snapped her fingers. The couple of people remaining in the bar suddenly lost interest and decided that it was time to go home. Once the last one had left, another snap bolted the door. Aziraphale licked his lips nervously. 

“Well.. when you put it like that…”

Crowley spun around and pressed herself against him, one arm either side going behind him to grip the edge of the bar, hemming him in and pinning him in place, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his neck, simultaneously sliding her slim hips between his knees until her body was crushed close to his. Aziraphale whimpered and clutched at her narrow waist, telling himself it was just to steady himself so the stool didn’t tip over. Crowley lifted one of her own hands to grasp at one of his, and slid it down to her backside, and he couldn’t help but take a squeeze. She chuckled darkly and kissed his throat. 

“You should know by now you can’t resist, Angel.”

“Yes, well it’s hardly fair when you’re using your demonic wiles on me is it?”

“I’m not using my demonic anything on you, Aziraphale, this is all me. The only miracle I’ve used tonight was to get us some alone time, nothing more.” She pressed a trail of kisses up his neck to his ear, which she nibbled before whispering in it. “I’m doing nothing more than being myself here, any attraction you’re feeling is all you, Angel. What you do with it is up to you.”

Aziraphale pulled his head back and regarded her cooly, then reached out to pluck her shades off and set them on the bar. “Crowley, you really are incorrigible”

She smiled in reply. 

Aziraphale gave up trying to resist what his body had been telling him for the past five minutes, and kissed her. His hands came up to tug at the zip of her dress frantically. “This really must be the last time, you wily temptress.”

“Whatever you say, Angel, now take me.”

He bit at her neck in reply, grabbed her by the backside and hefted her up then deposited her on a nearby table, hands sliding up her thighs and rumpling her black dress at her hips, then dragged up a low chair and sat before her, spread her knees and kissed up her inner thighs reverently, taking hungry bites here and there, then hooked a finger round her thin lacy panties and pulled them off, casting them aside impatiently. 

Crowley laid back and moaned gently as the angel licked at her delicate folds, tongue delving deep, kissing, licking, nibbling, sucking and probing, eager to taste her wetness, one hand fumbling at his fly to free his aching erection. He then stood, placed himself between her legs and thrust forward in one smooth movement, wresting a cry from her lips. 

“You do this every time, Crowley, you need to be punished for this you know.”

“Well you can smite me again later if you like, Aziraphale, you know I enjoy a good smiting.”

“Then that would rather defeat the object of the punishment wouldn’t it, dear?” he gasped between thrusts. Crowley laughed and clutched at his strong arms as he gripped her waist and plunged into her. He allowed a little celestial energy to gather at his fingertips and sent a charge through her skin. Crowley gasped out at the sensation, hot and fiery, too much and yet not enough. 

“Do that again” she gasped urgently.

“No.”

“Tease”

“Look who’s talking” he sniped back, leaning forward to bite at her neck. She growled playfully and clawed at his back through his shirt. Her hands drifted lower to his hips and she sent a little surge of demonic power through her own fingertips in response. Azirpahale yelped and thrust just a little harder in response. 

“Stop that you minx.”

“Serves you right, do me again.”

Azirpahale sighed, grabbed at her small breasts through the fabric of her dress and pushed a little more celestial power through, making her yelp out. He grinned then kissed her some more, smearing her scarlet lipstick across her face. Something about the debauched sight set something off deep inside the angel and he felt his orgasm building with a deep inevitability, his balls tightening and stomach clenching. “Crowley, I’m going to….”

“Yes, Angel, do it, come on…”

“Ah… ah… Crowely!” He gasped out, shuddering, releasing deep inside her. He tried to steady himself, breathing hard, and took in the dishevelled sight of the well fucked demon below him. “Thou art a foul temptress, Crowley.”

“You love it really.”

“Yes,” he sighed in a resigned manner. “I do.” He bent to kiss her, slow and languid, then lifted off to smile at her. “I do.”

“I love it when you say that.”

“I know, especially at our wedding darling. Now it’s time for one of your fantasties next time. What do you fancy my love?”

“Well you could bend me over the bonnet of the Bentley, love.”

“Masculine or feminine?”

“Masculine for both this time I think.”

Crowley smiled and lifted her husband’s hand to her lips, kissing his wedding ring there. “That’ll be something to look forward to when we get back to London then.”

* * *

***The cocktail is literally called an “Old Fashioned” and was invented in New York in the 1800s.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, tomorrow's prompt, "Memory" for day 12, is another fic which isn't soft and fluffy. It will be rated Mature because it contains mention of: physical injuries, alcohol abuse, violence. (But with happy ending.) It is a short chapter that is like a missing chapter or different POV for another one of my fics, "Lost and Found", which you can go and read after the short chapter to learn what happens next. 
> 
> So if you'd rather avoid that one and stick with nicer stuff, then you can wait until prompt 12 "Unlucky" for some SFW comedy instead.


	15. #GOC2020 prompt 12: Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short "extra" chapter or alternative POV for one of my other fics, "Lost & Found", for the prompt "Memory". Technically SFW as no sex, however it does contain mention of injuries, violence and alcohol abuse. There is hope at the end though, and if you follow the link at the end through to the full fic this is based on, you will see it all come together with a happy ending after all the angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: MATURE  
> WARNINGS: Contains mention of **INJURIES, VIOLENCE, ALCOHOL ABUSE. ******

Waking.

Blinking.

Plain, dirty white ceiling above him. 

Pain. 

He took a breath, and winced at the sharp stab of pain in his chest. Broken ribs? So much more. Much more pain, everywhere. His cheek itched in front of his ear. He rubbed at it it distractedly. He felt a shiver down his spine.

“Where am I?”

No response. 

He looked around, a large room filled with beds, cheap beds, just low frames with plastic wrapped matresses on them, some with rumpled sleeping bags on them, some occupied. On the nearest occupied one, two beds away, a man in his fifties sat, scruffy beard, ragged filthy clothes, reading a book. He looked up. “Y’ ok pal?” 

“Don’t think so. Where am I?”

“Oh you’re that new guy, Stacey said you couldn’t remember stuff. Homeless shelter, Uxbridge. You was in A&E last night, PCSO found you at the station all beat up. Got patched up at hospital then brought here.”

“Who are you?”

“Asim.”

“Who am I?”

“Can’t remember, Tom or Tim or Trevor or something. You’ll have to ask Stacey, she did tell me but then I forgot. She’ll be in her office. We have to clear out in a few hours anyway. Downstairs, down the hall on the left, says on the door ‘centre manager’.”

“Thanks.”

He sat up, every muscle in his body screamed at him, his wrist ached. He looked down at his ripped black jeans and plain white t-shirt and pulled the shirt up, exposing a multitude of bruises on his skinny torso, and a few stitched or steri-stripped lacerations. He touched them tentatively, and winced. Everything hurt. He staggered to his feet and glanced around. He didn’t seem to have any belongings around the bed or under it, save for a small ziploc bag which contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, small bar of soap, razor, mini can of shaving foam, bodywash and shampoo. 

Asim looked up. “Stacey can give you some fresh clothes if you ask her.”

He nodded, grabbed the bag and wandered to the door marked with an emergency exit sign above it and looked down the corridor outside. A stairwell ahead, a lift, a door marked “cleaning”, then some marked as toilet cubicles, and one marked showers. A double set of doors were further down with a camera above them and a sign stating “women only beyond this point.”

He looked down at himself again. Not sure why he did, but for some reason he felt the reason to check. Yup, he was a bloke. Why did that uncertainty pop into his head? Weird. He made his way to one of the toilets. He took in his face in the mirror. 

He Freaked. The. Fuck. Out.

What the fuck was wrong with his eyes? He leaned back against the wall breathing hard, his ribs stabbing with every breath. He had a shock of short red hair, freaky as fuck yellow eyes, and what looked like a snake tattooed on his face. So he was a face tattoo type of person. His face was bloodied and bruised. What had landed him in this state? His face itched again, a crawling sensation where that damned tattoo was on his cheek. He rubbed it again. He got another shiver down his spine.

He washed his face in the sink and brushed his teeth, then put the toiletries back in the bag and made his way downstairs. He knocked at the office door. “Come in” a brisk voice emerged from within. 

He opened the door and saw a woman in her 60s seated behind a desk, she smiled warmly at him. “Hello Tony. How are you this morning? Would you like some paracetamol? The doctor told me you could have some, and ibuprofen if you want it.”

“Tony?”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Oh.” He paused, taking it in. “Tony what?”

“You couldn’t remember. A PCSO found you at Uxbridge station, you’d been attacked, they took you to A&E and you were discharged, and brought here. I take it you still don’t remember anything?”

He shook his head. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

Stacey shrugged. “The doctors said it could be a congenital defect, similar to coloboma or something like that, certainly not uheard of, although rare in your degree of symmetry, and the colour of course. But she did stress she wasn’t an eye specialist, but you might want to ask your GP to refer you to one. You probably already have before, so if you remember who your GP is or where you’re from, you can talk to them.”

Tony gaped at her. “What do I do now? Where do I go, _what do I do?_ ”

Stacey softened. “I’m sorry, Tony, I don’t know. You’re a unique case. Plenty of people come in here not _wanting_ to remember, but I’ve never met someone who honestly can’t. Gary down the hall can set you up with some clothes to be going on with, a sleeping bag, tent and some supplies, but I’m afraid this is a night shelter only, everyone out by 10am. You’re welcome to come back if you need to. I can’t tell you what to do, I can give you some information on resources you can contact for assistance, Job Centre for benefits, you can use this address if you have no fixed abode to apply for benefits and housing, Citizen’s Advice Bureau for help with other stuff, I suggest registering with a GP locally as well to see if they can help with your memory issues and any aftercare for those injuries.”

She took a breath. “I’m sorry but that’s the limit of what I can do for you, Tony. I wish I could help more but you’re out of my remit. I hope you remember what you need to and get back on your feet. I’ll take you along to Gary, come on.” She stood and went to the door indicating that he should follow her. “Just be aware this is a dry shelter, so if you’ve had a drink, it’s no entry I’m afraid. If you appear to be under the influence of drink or drugs when you try to check in of an evening you will be turned away, we have limited space, and those factors do not work well in crowded spaces, understand?” Tony nodded. 

Along the hall he met a younger lad, Gary, who kitted him out with some underwear, socks, shoes, blue jeans, grey hoodie jumper, beanie hat and a bright blue waterproof jacket. He then handed Tony a couple of bundles - a second hand pop up tent and a sleeping bag, then a bag of other bits and pieces, a couple of bottles of water, chewable vitamin C and some non perishable foods. 

Tony looked at it all despondently. “I… I don’t suppose you’ve got any, um… sunglasses maybe?” He looked up hopefully and fumbled for an excuse. “The light hurts my eyes,” he lied, better than just admitting he hated the way they looked. Gary looked at him sympathetically. 

“Uh, lemme have a rummage in the lost property cupboard, might be able to rustle something up, ok? I’ll be back in a minute.”

* * *

Tony stepped outside, hoisting the bundle over his shoulder, settled the knock off Ray-Bans over his eyes, and looked around, lost. He began to walk, pain jolting through his body at every stride. It soon became unbearable. He took a seat on a bench and watched shoppers walking past along the high street. He took a gulp of water and a couple of paracetamol that Stacey had allowed him, only 6 in his pack in total, in case he got any ideas, oh and four ibuprofen. 

After a while he found a relatively clean empty cup in a rubbish bin and set it out in front of him, sitting his bony behind on the padding of his sleeping bag, and waited. That night he returned to the shelter, the paracetamol was barely touching the agony of his broken ribs let alone the rest of his injuries. By the end of the next day he had enough money to buy some booze. It numbed the pain a bit more. 

The night after he was turned away from the shelter, and tried to figure out the tent, in the dark, in a state of light inebriation. It was cold. 

He learned quickly, although maybe not quickly enough. Which spots were safe, which weren’t. Either police, other homeless people, drug dealers, or other unsavoury characters would chase him off certain areas. He was given a good kicking once or twice, sometimes being able to give back a choice few blows in return. 

Then there were the propositions. Creepy guys telling him he looked pretty, asking him if he wanted to go home with them, then spitting at him when he refused, or lashing out at him. 

Then someone set his tent on fire. 

Tony was in it when it happened. He heard the nasty laughter outside, the scuffling of shoes, the striking of a lighter, then a couple of yells and feet running away. He saw the flames, licking frighteningly fast up the flammable synthetic material. He fumbled for the zip but couldn’t find it. Swearing, molten plastic dripping on his skin, he didn’t register pain from the flaming droplets, he just barelled out through the burnt hole in the side and watched his meagre possesions burn. The leg of his jeans was on fire, and he stared at it dumbly, wondering why it didn’t hurt. He patted at the flames with one hand, then realised that the flames didn’t hurt his hand either. 

He picked up a still flaming shred of fabric and held it in front of his eyes, then passed his other hand through the flame. It licked up to caress him almost lovingly, then a small flame leapt up and danced on his fingertip as if it belonged to him. He passed it from finger to finger, unburnt, as his tent and everything in it burned behind him, forgotten. 

Why didn’t the fire hurt him? Why was it moving as he wanted it to? Why was it obeying him? 

He needed a drink. He dropped the scrap of fabric and flicked his hand, the flame vanished. He stared at the tent. He held a hand out toward the fire, and lifted his hand slightly. The flames licked higher. He smiled. He watched the conflagration dumbly until the flames on the tent extinguished themselves after a while. 

No one would ever believe him. The tattoo on his cheek itched again. He scratched it, as was becoming habit, and felt the familiar shiver down his spine as he did.

He _really_ needed a drink.

* * *

He lost count of the days. He had a new sleeping bag from Gary, but they’d run out of tents. He sat outside the homeless shelter, it was closed for the day and they wouldn’t let him in anyway even if they were open. He was too out of it for that. A police constable approached him. 

“Excuse me sir, may I have a word?” 

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Didn’t say you had sir, may I join you for a moment? Just a quick chat. You’re not in trouble.”

Tony shrugged and discreetly shifted his open can of lager behind him out of sight. 

“Constable Khan, Sir. May I ask your name?”

“Tony.”

“Tony what?”

“Dunno.”

“Pardon?”

“I said I dunno, I can’t remember.”

The constable smiled. “May I see your eyes, Tony?”

“Piss off.”

The copper sighed. He could see a lick of flame red hair peeking out below the edge of the hat, the guy had the snake tattoo, was wearing shades and wanted to keep his eyes hidden. Skinny, would be fairly tall if he was standing up. He took a gamble. 

“Might you be Mister Anthony J. Crowley?”

“Dunno.”

“Name doesn’t mean anything to you then, Tony?”

“Nope.”

“I have reason to believe that you have been recorded as a missing person, Tony, and there’s an old friend who is looking for you. Would you like to come to the station with me, I can put you in touch with him?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all, Sir.”

“Then, with all due respect, you can go fuck yourself.”

“Would you like to know the name of the person who reported you missing?”

“Maybe I left them for a good reason, what do I know? Maybe they’re the one who beat me up? Maybe I ran away. Maybe if I go back to them I get beaten up again.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Tony. But if you do wish to get in contact, just ask a police officer, we can put you in touch. You are under no obligation, I can’t force you to come with me, you’ve done nothing wrong, all we will let them know is that you’re found and safe, but don’t wish to be contacted.” PC Khan nodded at him and left. 

Tony fished for the can and took a swig.

* * *

More days passed in a haze of forgetfulness, more rebuffed propositions, more people spitting on him, swearing at him, trying to steal what little he had. He sat in a shop doorway with a six pack of cheap supermarket lager. He was two and a half cans into it, the previous six pack of empties were shoved into a nearby bin. Everything was rather fuzzy. 

Then another weirdo approached. Tony stared at the tan shoes and beige trousers paused in front of him without looking up. Those same shoes had walked past him once already, and then come back to stand in front of him. He nudged his empty cup forward a bit in silent invitation for some change. 

Then the guy fell to his knees in front of Tony, sobbing, reaching out to him. “Crowley, oh my dear boy I’ve found you, I’ve found you, oh…”

Tony recoiled, a hiss escaping his lips. “Who the fuck are you? Fuck off, get off me!”

The blonde guy’s eyes opened wide in shock, his jaw hanging loose. “Crowley, it’s _me_ , Aziraphale…”

“Who’s ‘Crowley?’” He curled his lips in a snarl.

“You are, dearest.”

“I’m Tony, dunno who the fuck you are, but unless you’ve got some spare change you can fuck off and leave me alone.”

“Oh dearest, what did they do to you?”

“Who?”

The stranger faltered.

“They hurt you. They made you forget didn’t they?”

Tony growled. “Go fuck yourself. I don’t know who the fuck you are but piss off, leave me alone.”

The blonde paused, his face serious, and stubborn.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m not going to leave you alone. I know you, even if you don’t know yourself. You’re my best friend, I’ve known you almost your whole life, and you’re coming home with me.”

Tony slithered backwards, pressing his spine into the doorway, his gaze darting around considering escape options. “I don’t do that kind of fucking stuff, mate, fuck off. I’m not that desperate for money. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

“I do.”

Tony glared at him. 

The stranger looked at him strangely, thinking. “I know about your eyes. I know what they look like behind those glasses, Crowley.”

Tony hissed. “Fuck you.”

“That snake sigil on your cheek – it’s not a tattoo, it’s part of you. You can feel it moving sometimes. Your eyes are the most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Crowley, I _know_ you.”

Tony staggered to his feet, and gulped down the last of the can in his hand before letting it fall from his fingers. He was shaking.

The blonde stranger reached forward to embrace the Tony, who didn’t resist this time. He allowed the arms to encircle him, breathing hard, breath sour, body trembling. An aura of love overwhelmed him utterly. He spoke.

“Ok.”

“You’ll come home with me?”

A pause.

“Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a Crowley POV for the second chapter of **[“Lost and Found”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771634),** In which Crowley, as we have seen, has lost his memory. Aziraphale has finally found him. To find out what happened and why, feel free to read Lost and Found, and the sequel **[“Vengeance Found”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069864).**
> 
> Both are angst with a happy ending. Rated Mature (with optional separate standalone NSFW chapters rated Explicit which you can choose to read or skip over as you wish.). Check tags on the works, contains mentions of PTSD, descriptions of violence, mentions of alcohol abuse/alcoholism, but also lots of caring, love and healing. (My fics always have a happy ending). 
> 
> Tomorrow we get back to some comedy with "unlucky" prompt.


	16. #GOC2020 prompt 13: Unlucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what do you get when you take 2 Neil Gaiman created chaotic redheads and make them literally bump into one another? Good Omens crashes into American Gods as Crowley meets Mad Sweeney. Cue shenanigans. Aziraphale ends up mediating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: General Audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

Crowley reached into his pocket and withdrew the superglue, then fished in his other pocket for a pound coin. He glanced around, all clear. With a smooth skill borne of years of practise, he swooped down and glued it to the pavement, a quick press to the paving stone and then he slid upright and carried on walking as if he’d done nothing more than check his shoe. He sauntered down the street with a spring in his step. 

At least until he collided with a tall stranger, 6 foot 4 of angry looking redhead. Not Crowley’s suave dark copper coiffure, but a scruffy bright ginger thatch with matching beard. The stranger swore in a broad Irish accent. 

“The feck ye doin’ ye gothy twink?”

Crowley raised one cynical eyebrow in response. An insincere smile then cracked his features. 

" _So_ sorry, I _do_ hope I didn’t inconvenience you, there, no harm done…” He patted the stranger down as if checking he was ok, whilst surreptitiously using his light fingered pickpocketing skills to exact a little revenge for the slight. He then nodded at the angry Irishman and sauntered away, turning a corner and then swiftly losing himself in the convoluted back streets of London that he knew so well. 

Several streets away he paused to check his haul. A mobile phone, a packet of cigarettes, lighter, wallet, and a single gold coin. 

Crowley didn’t have much use for money, he miracled up much of what he wanted, used his discreetly ostentatious black credit card, or snapped up cash with a miracle as needed. He didn’t usually bother carrying cash on his person as it might ruin the lines of his sleek suit. The only time he did was when he was having fun, like a few minutes ago. He slid the coin into his pocket alongside the little tube of superglue, and sauntered off. He extracted a credit card from the wallet, with which he planned to make several highly embarrassing internet purchases that would get automatically delivered to the card owner’s address, then tossed the cash, cigarettes and lighter into a homeless person’s cup as he walked past, then tossed the empty wallet into a bin. 

The next day, Crowley paused to repeat his favourite little daily trick of gluing a coin to a pavement somewhere. He did his casual swoop’n’stick with deft movements and slunk away unnoticed. He didn’t even register that he’d used the pilfered coin, but wouldn’t have cared even if he did.

* * *

It was several days later. The bell above the bookshop jangled abruptly, causing Aziraphale to look up from his book in surprise. He could have sworn he’d locked the door at 5pm. 

“I’m afraid we are quite definitely closed, I’m sure I put the sign up…,” he began, uncertianly, rising to his feet to see who it was. 

“Yeah, well I say you’re open. Whurizze?” A tall, angry, bearded and wild-eyed Irishman stood in the middle of the shop, glaring around indignantly. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Where is the flash bastard?”

 _Oh_ . Aziraphale thought. _Must be after Crowley then._

“May I ask who you are? And who you are looking for?”

The wild furious redhead glared at him. “Sweeney, looking for a skinny guy, dressed in black, dark glasses, stupid hair, he stole something of mine.”

Aziraphale regarded the stranger coldly. “And what makes you think that person is in my bookshop?”

Sweeney snorted in derision. “None of your business, blondie.”

Aziraphale bristled, his angelic aura beginning to glow a little brighter, he tried to rein in his wrathful aspect with difficulty. “I rather think it is my business when you stomp into my home uninvited and so very rudely, I might add.”

Sweeney did a double take and looked at Aziraphale strangely. “Ey.. you’re, you’re... “ he squinted, assessing the aura. “You ain’t human either, are ye?”

Aziraphale’s brows lowered and he allowed a few extra eyes to manifest around him, to better view the interloper, confident that he could erase the stranger’s memory of his angelic aspect if necessary. But then, with the benefit of that self-same angelic aspect, he could see more of the person before him - a curious and very much also non-human creature. 

“... neither are you…,” the angel said, carefully. 

“Yer an angel!”

“Correct, and you are…?”

“Leprechaun.”

“I see. And what brought you here?”

“I sniffed him out, the bloody pickpocket. He ain’t human either. He’s been here. What is he?”

“Nobody you want to annoy. Wait here. And… don’t touch any of my books.” He pinned the leprechaun with a stern look that carried the weight of his angelic wrath behind it, and wordlessly threatened dire consequences for transgressions. 

Aziraphale went upstairs to the bedroom where Crowley was snoring peacefully. “Crowley?”

“Mmmph?”

“There’s somebody downstairs who wants to talk to you.”

“Tell em to stuff off. ‘M sleepin’.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Crowley. He’s a supernatural being and he appears to have a genuine grievance with you.”

Crowley came to full consciousness rather abruptly at that. “Supernatural being?”

“He’s a leprechaun.”

“Pretty sure I haven’t annoyed any tiny Irishmen recently, Angel.”

“Well he’s _certainly_ not tiny.”

Understanding dawned. 

“Oh shit.”

“Indeed, now time to come downstairs and face the music, dear.”

Crowley pulled a face, hauled himself out of bed, snapped his clothes into place, and followed the angel. 

As he alighted at the bottom of the stairs, the two redheads met each other's gaze with a mutual curl of lip and distaste. 

“What d’you want?” Crowley demanded with a surly tone. 

“You stole something of mine.”

“Well you were an arse.”

“You walked into me!” They stepped toward each other, squaring up threateningly.

“ _You_ walked into _me!_ ” 

Suddenly the angel was between the two of them, an inordinately strong palm pressed into each chest, pushing them apart with an irresistable force, the two redheads' feet slid inoxerably backwards across the floor. Aziraphale glared at the pair of them. “Enough!” Crowley and Sweeney continued to glare at each other.

“What the feck are ye anyway, ye daft skinny goth?”

Crowley flicked his shades off and treated the leprechaun to a hundred watt demonic glare from his slitted eyes, then hissed, forked tongue flicking between his lips threateningly. 

“Egh, filthy demon.” Sweeney pulled a face. 

**_“ENOUGH!”_ ** Azirpahale thundered, powerful harmonics reverberating through his voice and bouncing around the shop, feeling like a celestial punch to the gut to the other supernatural beings. He turned to Crowley, purely on the basis that he knew he could get a straight answer out of the demon, whereas the newcomer was an unknown quantity. 

“Crowley, what did you steal from this man?”

Crowley stared at his own feet. “Stuff.”

“What ‘stuff’, Crowley?” His face was stern. 

“Dunno, phone, wallet, cigs. Gave most of it away to a homeless person.”

Aziraphale was only slightly mollified at the last part. Of course Crowley was a soft demon. Sweeney interjected.

“ _And_ my feckin’ _COIN!"_

Crowley glanced up. “Coin?”

“Yeah, my lucky gold coin, feck the other stuff, I need my _coin_ back!” There was desperation as well as anger in his voice. Angel and demon regarded him curiously. The leprechaun collapsed onto the floor, head in his hands. “You have no idea what the past few days have been like, lads. No idea.”

Aziraphale relented and stepped forward to pat his shoulder comfortingly. “I think I’d better put the kettle on, shall I?”

“Got anythin’ stronger?”

“I think tea would be more appropriate right now, don’t you?”

Sweeney sighed and shrugged. He allowed the angel to help him to his feet again and guide him to a chair in the office. Crowley threw himself across the sofa and continued to glare at the leprechaun. Aziraphale retreated to the kitchen with a warning glance at the pair of them, and brewed up some tea for them all. He returned and pressed a steaming mug into Sweeney’s hands, then stepped to the sofa, nudged Crowley’s jumbled pile of limbs into a slightly smaller, marginally neater pile, and took a seat next to him. 

“Now, dear, what did you do with Mr. Sweeney’s coin?”

“Don’t remember.”

The Irishman’s eyes went wide. “You don’t feckin’ _remember?_ D’ye have any _idea_ what I’ve been through since yer stole that from me? Everythin’ that _can_ go wrong, _has_ gone wrong. My car stopped workin’, every food and coffee order’s been wrong, my hotel room got ransacked, I’ve been arrested, had my foot run over by a bus, had a bunch o’ multicoloured dildoes delivered from my credit card…”

(Here Crowley smirked to himself, and received a meaningful nudge in the ribs from Aziraphale, who put two and two together rather rapidly on the last point.)

The unlucky leprechaun continued _“... and after all that crap, yer tellin’ me_ **_that ye don’t feckin’ remember what yer did with a solid gold coin_** _ **?**_ "

Crowley pulled a rather expressive and very gallic shrug. A thought occurred to Aziraphale. He turned to Crowley. “Stand up.” The demon obeyed without question and stood before the angel, who began to pat him down, before dipping into his jacket pocket and triumphantly withdrawing a tube of superglue and holding it up before Crowley’s eyes incriminatingly. Sweeney looked on in sheer confusion. Crowley on the other hand, looked guilty. 

“Oh, yeah… probably.” Crowley muttered with a shrug. 

“Where?”

“Dunno.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “Well where have you been since you got it? Where might you have pulled your usual dirty trick?”

Sweeney was confused. “What dirty trick?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m afraid to say, Mr. Sweeney, that Crowley has almost certainly superglued your precious coin to a pavement somewhere.”

“You feckin’ _WHAT?_ ” 

Crowley shrugged again. “‘S kind of my thing.” he muttered. 

The leprechaun was incredulous. “What kind of a feckin’ demon _are_ ye? Are you not a bit childish to be a demon?”

“Aren’t you a bit bloody tall to be a leprechaun?” Crowley shot back.

Aziraphale pinned him with another severe look. Crowley shut up. “Well then, we are going to retrace your evey step over the past few days since you bumped into Mr Sweeney…” Crowley interrupted with a growl.

“ _He_ bumped into _me_ , Angel.”

“... since you _bumped into each other_ , and find where it is. And I want _both_ of you to be civil while we do so, do I make myself clear?” 

Crowley mumbled assent. Aziraphale raised a questioning eyebrow at the leprechaun, who shrugged and nodded as well. “So, you’re A. Z. Fell, and he’s Crowley, yeah?”

“You may call me Aziraphale, under the circumstances. Now, Crowley, let’s be off.”

* * *

They first sauntered the short walk between the bookshop and Crowley’s flat over in Mayfair, inspecting the pavement carefully as they went, and finding only the occasional regular pound coins here and there, and then Crowley wracked his brain to think of where else he’d gone. 

Next they headed over to Cecil court, off Charing Cross Road, and Crowley studied the pavement as Aziraphale tried not to get distracted by shop after shop filled with antique books.

“Whatever were you doing down here, Crowley?”

“Jus’ lookin for stuff.” was the red faced mumbled reply. 

“But these are all antique book shops. I daresay if there’s something you were looking for you could have just asked me.”

“Not if I was looking for something you don’t already have, Angel.” Crowley muttered. Confusion clouded the angel’s face for a moment before he realised the implication of Crowley seeking out old books that he didn’t already own. Suddenly a few years’ worth of Christmas presents made a bit more sense. 

Finding nothing there either, or in the surrounding areas, they headed off in another direction, where Crowley began to zigzag between every fine patisserie in a widening spiral around Soho, working steadily outwards. Aziraphale again allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. “What on earth were you doing on this trip, Crowley?”

The demon mumbled something under his breath, ears turning scarlet. 

“What was that?”

“I said, I couldn’t find anywhere that had the exact pastries you like best.”

Aziraphale realised his jaw was hanging open, then snapped it shut again promptly and studiously avoided eye contact with the laughing leprechaun. 

“You two are a right feckin’ pair ain’t yer?”

“Ssssshut it!” Crowley hissed. 

And then they saw it - a human kneeling in the middle of the pavement, trying to chisel something off it. Sweeney charged forward and shoved the man aside rudely. Aziraphale caught the unfortunate human and dispensed a minor blessing before making the man forget what just happened and walk away, then turned to the leprechaun scrabbling uselessly at the immobile gold coin firmly attached to the paving slab. 

Aziraphale gently but firmly moved the huge Irishman out of the way and snapped the coin into his own fingers. He inspected it carefully, and when Sweeney attempted to grab it, simply planted one hand in the middle of the leprechaun’s chest and propelled him slowly backwards until he was pinned up against the nearest wall, stunned at the angel’s strength. 

“This feels curious,” the angel was saying. “Why is it so special to you?”

“That’s my lucky coin, everything goes to shit without it. I need it.”

Aziraphale nodded and placed the coin into Crowley’s hand. Sweeney writhed under his gentle but firm grip, incredulous. Azirpahale ignored him. “Now, Crowley, give Mr. Sweeney his coin back and apologise. I expect you both to shake hands. Mr. Sweeney, I’d like you to apologise to Crowley as well.”

“You want me to what?”

Aziraphale gave him a _Look_.

“Right, right, apologise, right, sure, whatever.”

As the angel released Sweeney, Crowley grudgingly reached out and handed the coin over, then even more grudgingly shook the leprechaun’s hand. “Sorry for pickpocketing you.”

Sweeney curled his lip, caught Aziraphale’s expression and swapped it for a suitably apologetic look instead. “Sorry fer bumpin’ into yer.”

Aziraphale brightened up. “Well wasn’t that nice, now we shall let you get on with your business in London, Mr. Sweeney, I believe it’s time Crowley took me to dinner. Good evening to you.” With a nod at the leprechaun, the angel took the demon’s arm in his own, and firmly led him away. 


	17. #GOC2020 prompt 14: Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a tasty surprise for his Angel when he gets home from work. It all looks rather delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: hmm. either General Audiences or Teen and up.  
> WARNINGS: No warnings apply

“Oh good lord!”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and dropped his bag full of books on the floor in an uncharacteristic act of carelessness as he took on the sight currently arranged across the huge red marble desk in Crowley’s study. 

Crowley smiled at him. “D’you like it, Angel? I thought I’d put together a bit of a spread of things you might like. Let’s see…” he indicated a little arrangement of flaky pastries dripping in syrup. “Here’s some pistachio and honey baklava from that charming little Turkish café around the corner that you like… this over here is some double chocolate cake from Angeline’s patisserie, this little offering is some very tasty halva from Ibrahim’s place, a sample of créme caramel from Pasquel’s restaurant...” 

He thought for a moment then pointed to a delectable looking brownie. “This one’s from Vera at the WI, she baked up a batch especially for us, I know you’re partial to her home baking. Over here we’ve got a raspberry soufflé from the Savoy, a tarte au citrön from the Connaught, this one is a slice of lemon meringue pie from Brown’s Hotel.” The demon grinned at Aziraphale’s rapt expression and carried on.

“Over there is a hand whipped chocolate mousse from the Ritz, then some profiteroles from André’s, chocolate éclair from the Four Seasons, and to finish, some crêpes from that lovely little bistro round the corner from my flat.”

He looked proudly up at his angel, who stood there, mouth open and speechless. 

“...What? You not hungry, Angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed and tried to arrange some words in a coherent order.

“On the contrary, Crowley, I am quite ravenous, I just have one question dearest….”

“And what’s that, Aziraphale?”

“...Did you  _ have  _ to lie on your desk and arrange all these desserts on your naked body?”

Crowley grinned. “Hardly naked, Angel. The crêpes are protecting my modesty.” He winked and dipped a finger in the whipped cream atop the artfully arranged pile of pancakes then licked it off his finger seductively. 

“Besides, I  _ did  _ say it was a spread of things I thought you might like. Made sense to include me as well. Do dig in. I don’t think you’ll need a fork.”


	18. #GOC2020 prompt 15: Through The Years AND GO30Celebration 15 Earth Observation Files (2-4-1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel is tasked with some long term surveillance of the Principality Aziraphale on earth. Thus begins a few thousand years of a professional sketch artist-turned-photographer who gets to gaze at the ineffables for inordinatley long periods of time. Yeah, he ships it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: general audiences  
> WARNINGS: no warnings apply.
> 
> GOC2020 15 “Through the years” AND GO30Challenge “Earth Observation Files.” were able to be filled in one prompt together. I'm pretty chuffed about that.

Dariel sighed and reached for a fresh stick of charcoal after the first crumbled to dust in his nervous fingers. He was still getting used to this. “Special assignment” indeed. He and a load of other lesser angels had been called into a meeting and told to show off their best artwork. Bit of a weird task, but he gave it his best shot. He did a quick sketch of Uriel as she stood at the front of the room watching them all drawing furiously. She liked his work so much she pinned it up in her office. He hadn’t been sure what to think about that, but was cautiously pleased. 

Except that he turned out to be the most talented of the entire bunch, and had been handed a special assignment. 

“You’re to follow the Principality Aziraphale, make note of any unusual activities, make sketches of people he meets with, and never…” Uriel paused to jab her finger in his chest and hiss threateningly close to his face, “...  _ ever…  _ be seen. Understand?” Dariel nodded fearfully. 

It was noisy and smelly in the restaurant - platters of gross matter everywhere and all around him humans slurping down some kind of sea creatures from shells. Dariel pulled a little box of charcoal sticks from a fold in his toga and sketched furiously on his scroll. The Principality and the darkly dressed redhead were sitting several tables away apparently consuming the weird gross matter with every sign of enjoyment. He shuddered at the thought. 

Just then a slim girl with a playful smile and warm brown eyes slid onto the bench next to him and laid her  _ hand  _ on his  _ thigh _ . He nearly swallowed his tongue. 

“What… what’re you doing?”

She smiled at him. “You not here for a good time, love?”

Dariel had no idea what to say to that. “‘M working.”

“So am I, love.” The human winked at him. Dariel had no idea what it meant. Her hand slid up his thigh a little. He swallowed nervously. 

“What.. what’s your job?” He tried.

She gave him a very old fashioned look, then rolled her eyes at him. “Never mind,” she remarked, then stood and wandered off. Artists rarely had much money to spend anyway she figured. 

By the time Dariel looked up again, the other angel and his companion had left.

* * *

Dariel grumbled as the nib of his quill finally gave up and shredded into useless splinters. He couldn’t trim this one any shorter so he discarded it, then looked around surreptitiously. He was sitting on the roof of a building, watching the Principality and his companion in the square down below, sharing a meal outside a bar. 

No humans were paying attention to stuff up here, so he quickly manifested his wings, brought one forward and hesitantly grabbed one of his own secondaries. He gritted his teeth for a moment and yanked hard, stifling a yelp of pain. His wings, such as they were, couldn’t be used for flying any more. He hadn’t been able to fly for centuries now, constantly plundering his own wings for drawing materials. He began to worry the feathers might stop growing back at this rate. 

At least now and then other angels would take pity on him and gift him their own naturally moulted feathers to use as quills, but when he was out in the field, he had no option but to use his own sometimes. 

He grabbed his pen knife and with ease borne of centuries of practise, deftly cut a nib on the fresh quill, then dipped it into his ink pot and carried on drawing the scene below him. He was getting good at drawing the Principality and his most frequent companion now, and could get their essence in a few strokes of the pen. He only had to concentrate more when the Principality met with other people who he didn’t recognise.

* * *

Uriel knocked on Dariel’s chamber door. “Got some new supplies for you, here…”

Dariel inspected the little pile of wooden things she’d placed on his desk. “What’re these?”

“New invention, pencils. Easier than charcoal, like when you upgraded from papyrus to the smoother Japanese paper. Well now you don’t have to carry an inkpot around and keep plucking quills from your wings either. Just use your pen knife as before with the quills to sharpen the end of the pencils.”

Dariel smiled at the gift, grateful that he might finally be able to grow his feathers back again and fly when he wanted to. Life as an angelic artist was difficult when half the time you had to keep pulling your own feathers out for materials. Not to mention painful. He sharpened one of the new pencils, gathered some rolls of paper and made his way down to earth again.

* * *

The Principality was sitting in a London park alongside that constant companion with the red hair. Dariel had taken to simply naming the tall, darkly dressed one “Red.”, as he never got close enough to hear anything they said between each other, and didn’t know his name. He’d been strictly instructed to keep a safe distance at all times, only to record who the other angel met with, when, for how long and where. The rest was no doubt up to other angels to deal with. 

It was a tedious job, long hours, thankless, sometimes unpleasant when it was cold or raining. Sometimes the Principality met Red in the most out of the way places, and Dariel had to come up with elaborate human disguises to pass unnoticed. It wasn’t always possible to hide a good distance away. He sketched the familiar couple, watching them feed the ducks, and smiled. They had such an easy friendship together. 

He knew by now of course, that Red wasn’t human, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was. An angel deep undercover maybe? Masquerading as a human, or maybe even masquerading as a demon? He did dress all in black. Unless it was a demon. But why would a Principality be spending so much time with a demon? Ridiculous idea. He tried not to think about it too much - that kind of thinking was above his pay grade. His job was to watch and draw, not draw conclusions, difficult as it was. 

He found it increasingly hard to obey that order however. 

Sometimes he just wished that Red would reach out and take the Principality’s hand at last. You could see they wanted to. 

Sometimes he found himself sketching exactly that - the pair of them sitting closer together, holding hands and smiling. Then he scolded himself and destroyed the drawings. He wasn’t allowed to make things up, what if one of his inaccurate drawings somehow made it upstairs? He was only supposed to draw the truth. Who knew what kind of trouble he could get into if he drew things which were not real?

* * *

“What’s this?” Dariel turned the heavy box over in his hands.

“Camera. New human invention.”

“I know it’s a camera, Uriel, but I can hardly use this can I? What am I supposed to do - walk up to them and ask them to please sit very very still for ten minutes while I expose the film? All I’m going to get on this if I try to use it at a safe distance will be blurs.”

“Give it a go when you can, stick with the drawings, but if they do happen to be sitting still in good lighting conditions, then try now and then.”

Dariel sighed and nodded. More heavy equipment to lug around with him then.

* * *

Then every few years, Uriel would bring him a newer, better camera, ones with shorter exposure times, and he began to be able to use them easier. Although he kept making the drawings anyway. He enjoyed it by this point. Besides, at night he had to keep doing the drawings, it was too dark to photograph. 

He still wished they’d just hold hands though. He drew another little sketch of them side by side on the bench, then another where they leaned in, and a third where Red leaned forward to gaze into the Principality’s eyes, lips parted…

Dariel stopped himself sharply, then lit up the piece of paper in a lick of celestial flame. He wished he could get out of the habit.

* * *

Uriel ambled up to him as he sat outside a café in Soho. She placed a new camera on the table. “You’ll like this one,” she said with a grin. “Latest thing, but you’ll need some new lab equipment for processing, you’ll find it all up there when you get back upstairs, and I’ve appointed you a lab assistant to help with the new procedures.”

Dariel looked at the camera with interest. “What’s different about it?”

“It’s colour. No hand-painting plates any more, you can do colour in one step.”

Dariel’s face lit up. “Thanks.” 

Uriel left, and he glanced across to where he could see Red through the window of the bookshop, drinking coffee with the Principality, lounging on a sofa comfortably. Why didn’t they ever sit on the sofa _ together? _ He thought to himself, lost in a whimsy. He sketched idly, showing them holding each other tightly on that old leather sofa, Red kissing up the Principality’s neck, hands tender around him…

“That’s nice, love.” A friendly voice startled him from next to his shoulder. He looked up into the face of a pretty young woman in a miniskirt and thick khol eyeliner, hair in a short glossy bob. Dariel hastily crumpled the paper under his hand and her face fell. “That was good, why’d you scrunch it up?”

Dariel swallowed nervously. “Not…. not allowed. Not real. Um.” He hastily grabbed his belongings and fled. “Got to go, sorry.”

* * *

Colour film was a nice novelty, but he had used black and white for so long, he felt it somehow captured things with a bit more clarity, it seemed more artistic somehow, to paint with light and shadow, without the distraction of colour. He swapped it up now and then, the odd colour shot, but his main surveillance continued to be in monochrome, with the odd sketch here and there. 

He cradled his new Carl Zeiss zoom lens like it was a precious baby, and dusted it gently with a fine brush. The weight of the camera was a familiar comfort around his neck. From WWII for a while they’d experimented with giving him smaller and smaller micro spy cameras, which could be helpful sometimes, but he had so many years of experience at hiding out anyway, that give him a good zoom lens and he could get what he needed with far better clarity than a silly spy cam. 

Red had got into his Bentley, and the Principality was there too. They talked. It looked tense. Then the angel handed over what looked like a thermos. Their expressions were peculiar over what was presumably a cup of tea or some hot soup. Very strange. 

The angel smiled tightly then got out of the car, leaving Red behind looking lost and staring at the tartan thermos. Dariel shrugged and snapped another few frames before leaving.

* * *

Red had grown a moustache. A big ridiculous furry caterpillar on his face. Dariel tried not to giggle. He’d finished his photos so idly sketched Red in various different facial hair arrangements in his notepad. He didn’t follow Red when he left, he had to stick with the Principality, but sometimes he thought he’d love to know what he got up to when he wasn’t with the angel. 

He thought he’d like to be able to get closer and listen in on their conversations sometimes, especially when they got drunk together and laughed. He could see sometimes, when Red updated his wardrobe, that the angel was very politely restraining himself from eye rolling or giggling at the lanky redhead’s latest sartorial choices. At least the angel was easy to draw, he rarely updated his wardrobe, clinging onto a fashion for a century or so at least before finally bowing in to pressure and updating his wardrobe to a mere fifty or so years out of date instead of a full hundred, and then clinging onto those for a further fifty years. Red was always cutting edge. Those flares were ridiculous though.

* * *

Trouble was, that Dariel also had to attire himself in current fashion trends while on surveillance duties, and the shell suit was just horrible. Not to mention the trainers with fluorescent neon yellow laces. But he blended in, awful as that sounded. He wished very much that he didn’t. 

At least Red had got rid of his moustache for the 1980s, but that hair was something else. He wondered how many cans of hairspray the tall skinny dude got through a week.

* * *

The 90s rolled around and Dariel sat in ripped blue jeans and denim jacket, looking like an art student sketching the ducks. He quietly observed Red waiting on a park bench as the Principality bought them ice creams. The skinny dude was dressed like a yuppie with an ostentatiously large mobile phone, dangling on a strap around his wrist. Flash bastard. 

The Principality returned and handed a strawberry lolly to Red, who accepted it with a little smile, then began licking. Dariel had just got a new telephoto lens, the same one the paparazzi used on long distance shots to spy on celebrities. It made his job a lot easier as he could stay safer, further away. He zoomed in on Red and then was thankful that his equipment was secured on a strap around his neck or he’d have dropped the camera. 

_ He couldn’t be!  _

_ After all this time how had he never noticed? _

Well, he supposed, there hadn’t often been a reason for Red to get his tongue out really, but there it was, ridiculously long, forked, and wrapped around the ice lolly, slurping it with every sign of enjoyment and a sly sidelong look at the Principality, who looked rather flustered at the sight. 

Red  _ had  _ to be a demon. Had to be. Dariel had thought of the possibility before, but had always persuaded himself that it wasn’t possible. But there he was. He wondered if his superiors knew. Maybe they did, and that’s why he’d been given this job. Well he wasn’t going to say anything, that wasn’t his job - pictures only, that was the brief. And he wasn’t going to go outside that. 

He considered the pair of them sitting companionably on the bench side by side. It’d be such a shame if the tongue shot got accidentally double exposed and ruined, wouldn’t it? He wound the film back and photographed a duck on the same piece of film. He smiled to himself and wandered off.

* * *

It was the park again. Red seemed exasperated with the Principality, they were bickering again, in that friendly laid back way that they did, a little back-and-forth. Dariel followed at a discreet distance until they mounted the top of the steps and got into that cursed Bentley. The wheel clamp didn’t stop them as it disappeared and the traffic warden’s machine erupted into a shower of sparks as they drove off at high speed. 

He sighed. He couldn’t keep up with them when they did that and he’d have to use a carefully rationed miracle to find the location of the Principality again. It was the Ritz. He miracled a booking up for himself and slid into a table in the corner to observe and sketch again. 

Red was doing his usual trick of eating nothing and raptly watching the angel consume the gross matter as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world. Dariel wondered if at any point Red was going to give up the pretence and just stand up, grab the angel by the lapels and drag him onto the table to snog him senseless. He began to idly doodle that exact scenario in his sketchbook before realising what he was doing and hurriedly scribbling it out. 

Later he tailed them back to the bookshop where the pair of them appeared to get thoroughly drunk, but then pulled the blinds, and he clocked off for the night.

* * *

Dariel felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder and a very serious looking burly American in a badly fitting black suit and an earpiece was glaring at him from behind his shades. 

“Hand over the camera.”

“You can’t do that, this is my property.”

“Listen pal, this is the residence of the American Ambassador to London in there, and taking paparazzi shots of him through the bushes definitely comes under spying and suspicious activity. Hand it over.”

“You can’t do anything to me, I’m standing on public property.”

“Invading the privacy of a high ranking politician by taking photos beyond the perimeter wall of his residence. You can hand the camera over, or I’ll be calling the police and letting them deal with the matter.”   


Dariel sighed and snapped. The bodyguard went blank and stood in a catatonic state. “When you wake up, you will forget you ever saw me, and think you were just watching some pigeons.” He snapped again and walked off as the CIA agent came back to his senses, looking confused. 

Dariel couldn’t see Red at least. The Principality appeared to be disguised as a gardener, but he saw no sign of the tall redheaded bloke (demon?) at all. There was, however, a severe looking nanny who appeared to chat with him from time to time. He wondered if he should be photographing her as well or not, but she seemed to just be another member of staff, so he didn’t.

* * *

The erstwhile photographer looked down sadly at the camera in his hands. 

“Not needed?”

Uriel shrugged. “Report for duty, grab a sword and join your old ranks for army duty, it’s all kicking off and I don’t think we need a war correspondent. Your old job is over, you’ll be assigned a new one afterwards, if there is an afterwards.”

Dariel returned to his lab and looked around sadly. The dark room where he’d processed all his old prints for so many years, the computer where he’d worked when he shifted to digital, his trays of art equipment that he still used from time to time, and some of his favourite pieces framed on the wall. There was a handsome black swan he used to feed and had spent years sketching in between waiting for his targets to show up, families of ducks, watercolours of the parks and the trees in all seasons, especially the beautiful autumnal browns and golds. Even sketches of humans, like the Russian spy who had a particularly interesting face to draw while he also had clandestine meetings in St. James’s Park. 

None of it meant anything any more. Maybe he could just hide out in his dark room until it was all over. No one would miss him.

* * *

A new angel had been assigned to London. Principality Aziraphale had been let go, retired or something, and just in case, Uriel had assigned Dariel to follow the new angel in charge of blessings and miracles. Uriel had learned to be wary and keep tabs on her employees. Who was to say the new one wouldn’t end up running off with a demon as well? 

So far, the new London angel was pretty boring. Dariel watched her wandering around, pulling faces at the gross matter which the humans consumed, and mostly just standing out like a sore thumb. He took a few photos then wandered off. 

For old time’s sake, he found himself wandering down to St. James’s Park out of habit. He fed the latest in a long familial line of black swans who had grown used to his presence over the years, and then spotted something. 

Red and the Principality were back, just hanging out on their old bench, enjoying ice creams again, smiling. Red seemed a little on edge and was looking warily at every person who came too close to them, and when someone approached them to ask for directions, Red had reached out and grasped the Principality’s hand protectively. Dariel’s eyes flew wide. 

He sat down and pulled out his sketchbook. Once the human had left, the angel and demon had carried on holding hands. He finished the sketch, and then started doodling more, soon becoming lost in his work. 

Until suddenly a strong hand was gripping his shoulder. 

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” An unfriendly voice hissed in his ear. 

He turned his head in surprise to see Red gripping his shoulder hard, glaring at him. He reached down and plucked the sketch book from Dariel’s fingers, then began flipping through the pages. He stopped at one that showed the angel and demon sitting side by side smiling warmly at each other, hands entwined on the bench between them. In the corner was a smaller sketch showing them kissing. 

Red looked confused, and then smiled. 

“It’s a good likeness.” He ripped the page out to keep it, then handed the book back to Dariel again. “But you can piss off now, and if I find you hanging around again I won’t be so…” he leaned forward threateningly and dipped his shades to glare at the angel menacingly, “...niccccceeeee…” He hissed his forked tongue between his teeth, then stalked off. 

The Principality Aziraphale was waiting nearby anxiously, he slid his hand into the demon’s and they walked off together. Dariel breathed a sigh of relief. Time to leave them alone, he thought. 

Then, just as they reached the gate to the park, he saw them pause, and say something to one another. Red showed the Principality the sketch. The Angel smiled... and then they kissed. 

Dariel smiled to himself. The past few thousand years waiting to see that moment for real had been totally worth it. 


	19. #GOC2020 prompt 16: Far Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale take Bob and Lydia on a space trip, they meet the infamous Stabby The Space Roomba. Another bonus [Roomba Of Doom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) chapter, because, hey: ROBOTS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> warnings: no warnings apply
> 
> [Roomba Of Doom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066155/chapters/55171642) is my ongoing fluffy SFW comedy wherein Crowley gets accidentally summoned by a roomba on a ouija board rug, gives it sentience and adopts him. The roomba is named Bob. They also rescued an abandoned robo mower named Lydia, granted sentience by Aziraphale. Bob is a demonic little bugger with attitude, Lydia is an angelic little good girl. Bob loves Lydia. 
> 
> When I started writing Bob, I had never heard of Stabby The Space Roomba until someone mentioned it to me in the comments. I did play with the HC that Stabby WAS Bob in the far future, but instead we have this. They both exist. Bob has also previously played around with a kinfe taped to his lid, mostly when playing real-life fruit ninja with Crowley.
> 
> Stabby apparently makes it all the way to rear-admiral, but I decided that's still in the future yet as well, so he's still working his way up the ranks when Bob meets him.

“Come along, Lydia, don’t dawdle, dear girl.” Aziraphale had paused to watch the robo mower as she left off her investigation of a small, glassed-off square foot of lawn on display next to the stark white corridor, and hurried to catch up. Bob beeped encouragingly at her as he trundled along at Crowely’s heels. 

They joined a queue for the next shuttle. An off duty pilot with brunette hair tied up neatly in a bun gave the group a strange look. “What adorably antique robots you two have! I’m amazed they’re still going. I’m sure I saw one like the little round one in a museum once. Isn’t it a little valuable to be bringing out on a holiday?”

Crowley gave her a dark look and walked on without degining to answer. Aziraphale gave her a discreet blessing with a polite smile as he went by. They took a seat in the boarding lounge, looking out at the sleek space shuttle waiting there. Bob trundled around happily vacuuming up dust, until he came face to face with a more modern, hovering hoover, which tutted at him in irritation. 

_“Please remove yourself back to your owner, appliance. Maintenance is in progress in this area.”_

Bob beeped indignantly at it. “Robert J. Crowley, _really!_ Language!” Aziraphale scolded him with a sharp look. The hover hoover turned to the angel in puzzlement.

_“But the appliance did not speak, sir.”_

Bob scooted back to hide behind Crowely’s ankles and blew a raspberry at the hover hoover. Aziraphale was indignant. “Bob doesn’t need a voice chip to make his meaning understood, do you, Bob?” 

Bob beeped in assent. 

“Do you want a voice chip, Bob?”

Bob blew another raspberry and flashed his red LEDs. 

“See? Now kindly mind your own business.”

The hover hoover apologised and hummed away to carry on it’s cleaning duties. 

A younger gent in a military uniform sitting nearby strained to get a better look at Bob. “Hey, it is! I thought it was!” He nudged his likewise uniformed companion excitedly. “Hey, Rae, check it out, it’s just like the Sergeant! I didn’t think there were any left!”

Crowley looked up sharply. “Sergeant?” 

“Yeah, Sergeant Stabby. He’s been on our ship for decades now. He’s had a few field promotions. I’m Private Ash Sharma, this is Private Rae Eustace. We were on shore leave on Earth for a few weeks. Where did you get your roomba?”

Crowley tried not to grin and shrugged. “He just followed me home from work one day.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “He kidnapped him.”

Bob beeped and huddled up to Crowley’s ankles. Crowley laughed. “He’s right, Azirpahale, it’s not kidnapping when they ask to come with you.”

“He looks pretty old.”

“He is.” Crowley remarked. “I have a good plastic surgeon.”

Private Sharma looked surprised. “Look, when’s your flight? Our ship is just refuelling and will be waiting a while, you should bring yours to come and meet the Sergeant. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to meet you folks too.”

Aziraphale looked at his watch. “Not for another two hours yet at least. Are you saying that your _Sergeant_ is like Bob?”

Private Eustace nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him. Come on, I’ll ask the duty Sergeant if we can bring you on board as guests, at least to the visitor’s lounge.” Crowley met his husband’s eye with a little shrug, which was returned. Crowley stood and shook Eustace’s hand. “Anthony J. Crowley, this is my Husband, Aziraphale Fell.” The four of them shook hands, then followed the two millitary personnel to their dock. 

There was a bit of radio back-and-forth at the gate between Eustace and her superior as Sharma chatted with Crowley. “So, where are you off to today?” 

“Mars for a holiday. Haven’t been there for…” Crowley hesitated. Actually, since he’d been part of the team building it, when he’d been pulled off star making duty for a bit of planetary infilling. “... Oh, yonks. It’ll be interesting to see how it’s changed.” 

After a few minutes they were issued guest passes and invited on board to a spacious visitor’s lounge and offered cups of coffee. A few minutes later there was a yelp from the doorway and a crewmember leapt into the air then grabbed at her ankle. Sharma giggled. “She’s new on board, she’ll learn. Here comes the Sergeant.”

Crowley looked down and saw a similarly antique Roomba to Bob, trundling along the floor with a kitchen knife strapped to his lid. He had military insignia painted on his lid like epaulettes. Bob beeped in excitement and charged forward to greet the newcomer. Sergeant Stabby stopped in surprise, then inched forwards cautiously, and booped Bob on his bumper bar in greeting. Bob beeped happily, then spun around to Crowley with a series of sad beeps. 

“Sorry, buddy, I didn’t bring your fruit ninja knives with us, I didn’t think bringing an armed robot on an intergalactic flight would be a good idea.” 

Bob then beeped at Lydia and encouraged her to come forwards. She crept closer and politely nudged Sergeant Stabby, then dipped her mowing height briefly in a curtsey. The trio of appliances began beeping animatedly at each other, occasionally flashing LED lights, spinning around, revving motors in chuckles and apparently having a good time. 

Azirapahle took in the sight with interest. “So how did your roomba come to be on board, how did he come to have a knife, and how on earth did he come to be promoted to Sergeant?”

Sharma grinned. “It was decades ago, way before my time. Someone brought him on board from home when they got a new one, thought he could just sweep the corridors, then the crew got drunk one night and someone thought it’d be funny to strap a knife onto his lid and set him up against the cleaning droids. He put one out of action then anyone who came near him to try to take the knife off got jabbed, so they just decided to leave it on there.”

“Wasn’t that rather dangerous?” Aziraphale was aghast, remembering Bob’s teenaged shenanigans, not that the demonic appliance had improved overmuch in manners over the years, and retained a streak of Crowley-ish mischeviousness, which the angel wouldn’t change for the world. 

“Eh,” Eustace chuckled. “It teaches the new recruits to be quick on their feet and have situational awareness. Then one day he stabbed a douchebag general in the ankle, and the captain gave Stabby a field promotion after the general disembarked. He’s been pretty good in a few skirmishes, he generally loiters around the airlocks if we ever get into trouble and hacks at invading ankles. It’s pretty hard to mount an attack when you’re limping around on stumps. So he got a few more field promotions. Then someone decided to paint his insignia on his lid.”

Sgt. Stabby nudged Sharma’s ankle with his non-stabby side to get his attention then did a series of beeps, turned and trundled off. Bob and Lydia followed him. “He’s just going to give your two a tour apparently.” Sharma translated, although Crowley, after all these years interacting with Bob, had picked it up perfectly too. 

“So can all your crewmembers understand him? Even without a voice chip?” Aziraphale was surprised. 

“Pretty much,” Eustace volunteered. “You spend enough time around him you pick up a thing or two, same with yours by the looks of it?” Crowley nodded. Something was nagging at his mind though. 

“Is yours, um… sentient?”

Sharma pulled a complicated face and waggled his hand to and fro vaguely. “Eeeeuuuhhhh... “ he shrugged. “Honestly? We’re not sure. He doesn’t have complex AI as far as we know. He just gradually got more and more understandable. We have no idea why. Yours?”

Crowley shrugged back. “It’s kinda complicated.” He took a seat next to his husband to sip some more coffee and chat with Sharma, Eustace and some of their colleagues, until Sgt. Stabby returned a little while later, leading Bob and Lydia as he finished their tour of the ship. Aziraphale checked his watch. 

“We should probably be getting back to our gate now, but thank you ever so much for your hospitality, and all the best on your next tour of duty.” He smiled warmly and shook hands, then saluted at Sgt. Stabby, as a retired angelic soldier he felt he should, and received a formal beep and sway of the knife in return, like a salute.

The unconventional little family of Angel, Demon, Roomba and robo mower sauntered back to the shuttle gate. Aziraphale took a seat on a sofa and extracted a book from his bag, garnering curious looks from the e-book owning humans around him who weren’t familiar with such things on a daily basis. Crowley lounged back and rested his head on the angel’s lap for a doze while they waited. Bob continued to vacuum and to terrorise the occasional modern service droid who came too close, while Lydia soaked up some sunshine on her solar panels near a floor to ceiling window. 


	20. #GOC2020 prompt 17: Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU - Crowley, a horticulturalist at Kew Gardens, wins a free holiday up north and meets Aziraphale who works at the hotel where he stays, and is keen to show him around. Feelings are felt. Exactly 5,000 words of SFW fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

Crowley hadn’t expected to actually  _ win  _ the free holiday but he had. A few days away in York for two. He’d forgotten entering it until the letter came through from the Sunday Times. Unfortunately it arrived just after he’d broken up with his boyfriend, but he figured that a few days away while the cheating douchebag moved his stuff out of their flat was probably the perfect remedy. He booked some time off from his job at Kew Gardens, and prepared to get away from it all. 

He took the train up from London. His daily driver needed new tyres, and the antique Bentley his great uncle had left him was still years away from being a complete restoration. He was having to save up to buy parts and restore individual bits as and when he could afford it. Given that a single headlight could set you back about five grand, it was slow going. 

The hotel was beautiful, an old Georgian house with spacious Victorian conservatory on the back filled with a multitude of beautiful hothouse plants that Crowley admired as he sipped some tea. He picked up a brochure from a side table and studied it. The hotel had been an old family home, and was in fact still run by the same family who had owned it for hundreds of years. There was a library on the second floor that guests were welcome to make use of. 

It was too early for dinner, so he took himself up there to investigate. It was a beautifully appointed Georgian style library, decorated in soft pastel colours with big ancient comfy sofas and floor to ceiling windows. Most of the books were behind glass in huge cabinets. He opened one and had a rummage. Many were clearly ancient. A few were up to the 1970s but there wasn’t really anything more recent. He picked a few out to flick through. 

One was a fairly old book about the history of Bentley, and covered the era in which his was built. It had fascinating information in it, even on restoration tips. He soon lost himself in the book, until he heard a quiet, polite cough. 

He looked up to see a smartly dressed blonde gent with vivid blue eyes, in a pale suit watching him politely. “Is everything to your satisfaction, Sir?” the blonde asked him. Crowley tried not to stare. He was flustered and tried to stammer some words into order. 

“Uh.. yeah, yup, I… yes. Lovely. Um. Lovely hotel, lovely library, um…”

The blonde beamed as if it were a personal compliment. “I’m so pleased. I’m Aziraphale Fell, I’m in general management, but I also like to informally run the library. It was left at the insistence of the owners when the place was converted, along with it’s contents of course. Did you find anything that interests you?”

Crowley nodded happily. “Yeah.. this one is fascinating. I don’t suppose I could buy it could I? There’s a couple of others here as well, if the hotel might be interested in selling any?” It was a slim hope, but he could at least ask. Aziraphale stepped over with a smile.

“Allow me to take a look, Sir…” He checked each book, set one aside and checked the others. “Not this one, I’m afraid, it has the owner’s name in the front so that one wouldn’t be available, but here…” He set the remaining three books into Crowley’s hands with a warm smile. “Enjoy these.”

“Oh thanks, how much?”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Please, accept them, as a gift, compliments of the hotel.”

Crowey was stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Certainly, Sir, enjoy your reading, the restaurant opens at 6pm, would you like me to come and let you know in case you get absorbed in your reading material?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Which room number are you, by the way, Sir?”

“Oh um…” Crowley checked the tag on his key. “Twenty one.”   
  
“Ah, Mr. Crowley, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, you memorised that?”

Aziraphale winked. “We like to make guests feel at home here, Mr. Crowley.”

“Oh, please, just call me Crowley. I mean, I like to go by my surname alone instead of Mr, or my first name.”

Aziraphale nodded and smiled again, although Crowley got the impression he was going to struggle with using anything less formal than “Sir” or “Mr.” Crowley settled down on the comfy sofa to read. 

A while later, Aziraphale returned and gave another polite “ahem.” Crowley looked up in surprise at how time had flown. 

“The dining room is now open, feel free to come down whenever you’re ready Sir.”   
  
Crowley stashed the books in his room first before wandering down. Aziraphale met him with a smile in reception and led him through to the dining room and handed him over to a waiter with a smile, then murmured to the waiter that he was clocking off now, and to look after Mr. Crowley. 

With that, Aziraphale slipped off his name badge, tucked it in his pocket, slipped off his jacket so he was only in his waistcoat, and went to a quiet corner of the dining room to have a glass of wine and a bite to eat while he checked over some paperwork. 

Crowley ate his own meal, while trying not to be distracted by watching Aziraphale in the corner sipping his wine and thoroughly enjoying his own dinner, having set his paperwork aside to savour every mouthful with a blissful expression on his face. Crowley had never seen anyone pay such respectful attention to every bite or enjoy it so much. Aziraphale put his fork down and noticed Crowley with a little smile and tip of the head. Crowley blushed furiously and nodded back then bent his head in embarrassment to concentrate on his own dinner. 

He wondered whether to head out into York after dinner for a wander around, but he was pretty tired. Probably best to go for a walk the next morning and learn his way around in daylight. For this evening he’d just relax at the hotel and unwind. He took a brandy up to the library and settled down again to relax with the book that he hadn’t been able to take away.

* * *

A little while later he stirred, feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Crowley? I think you fell asleep…” He looked up into Aziraphale’s kindly gaze, confused. “You’re in the library, sir, you must have dozed off while you were reading. I do the same myself sometimes, I admit.” Crowley rubbed his eyes and sat up. Aziraphale settled down on the opposite sofa, a mug of cocoa sat on the table between them. 

“I live on site, so my evening ritual is to come up here to read a little before retiring to my room for the night.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll… uh… I’ll leave you to it then.” Crowley mumbled, stretching and setting the book aside. Aziraphale shook his head hurriedly. 

“Oh no, please don’t leave on my account, it’s nice to have some company, not many guests bother with the library, I’m delighted to see it being appreciated. That is…” he paused, uncertain, “... if you don’t mind me sharing the library with you, sir?”

Crowley wanted nothing more than to spend some time being allowed to hang out around this delicately beautiful human being. “Not.. not at all, feel free.” He sat himself a little more upright and reached out to take another sip of his brandy, then seeing that Aziraphale had opened his own book to read quietly, followed suit, sharing a companionable silence for a while, until Azirpahale set his book aside and broke the silence. 

“So you have a particular interest in cars then? The Bentley book?”

“Yeah, I got left a 1930s Bentley by my great uncle when he passed away, I’m restoring it, so that book will come in handy.” 

They chatted amiably for a while, until Crowley’s weariness from the long day of travel left him feeling it was time for bed. He placed his book carefully back in the cabinet again and stretched to the ceiling with a yawn. Aziraphale looked up with a smile. “So what did you have in mind for tomorrow then? You’re with us for a few days, I understand, the competition winner, yes?”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, was a prize for two but no one else to bring with me so just on my own, was going to wander around the city, take in the sights, I’ve never been this far North before to be honest. Dunno what there is to see, really.”

“Well it  _ is  _ my day off tomorrow, I’ve lived in York for over twenty years, since I was at university here. I’m more than happy to show you around, if you’d like, that is?”

Crowley was surprised, but pleased. “Yeah, that’d be really lovely, thanks.”

“Well then, shall we meet at breakfast? The dining room opens for breakfast from 6:30 am, but no doubt you’d prefer a lie-in, shall we say 9?”

“Sure, thanks, I appreciate it. You have a good night, yeah?” Crowley gave him a grin, feeling somewhat more relaxed than he had in weeks. Aziraphale returned his smile, and each retired to their rooms.

* * *

The next morning, Aziraphale had reserved Crowley the best table by the bay window; they could glimpse the top of York Minster from there. Crowley sipped his coffee as Aziraphale spread some homemade strawberry jam on his toast. He fnished it then dabbed at his lip with a napkin daintily, and his face lit up again with that beautiful smile as he regarded Crowley. 

“So, what would you like to see today?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno to be honest, I was hoping you’d just show me what you think are the best things to see. Surprise me.”

Aziraphale beamed at that. “Oh, I’d be delighted. Allow me to make a quick phone call, there is a lunch reservation I need to make for us, I have a friend who works there who might be able to reserve a table, it’s a tradition one simply  _ must  _ partake of when visiting North Yorkshire…” he pulled an older looking mobile phone from his pocket and made a quick call. 

“All sorted, Shall we?” He stood and swept his arm toward the door in invitation. Crowley followed him out. Their first stop was only a hundred yards from the hotel, outside a small antique bookshop. “If you have any interest in literature, this shop is owned by a friend of mine. She may have more Bentley and car books for you.”

They browsed a little, and Crowley did indeed find a couple of books that piqued his interest. The owner kindly offered to keep hold of them so they could pick them up again on their way back to the hotel later rather than carrying the heavy tomes around all day. 

Next, Aziraphale showed Crowley the Shambles, the historic narrow streets of shops that had been there for centuries unchanged, and then onto York Minster. “Do you have any interest in architecture at all?” He asked Crowley quietly as they wandered around. 

“I don’t know much, but I can appreciate good craftsmanship when I see it.” He looked up at the stained glass window, where a blonde angel fluttered at the edge of a scene. “That one looks like you” he joked with a wink. Aziraphale blushed and muttered something Crowley couldn’t quite make out. “Pardon?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I was named after an angel, mum was a bit religious, well ‘a bit’ is probably an understatement. She used to call me her little cherub.”

“Well she had a point.” Crowley remarked with a sly grin, and was gratified to see Aziraphale blush slightly and hurry off toward the next point of architectural interest. They spent some time exploring the cathedral before lunchtime approached and Aziraphale led the way to Betty’s Tea Rooms. 

“This isn’t the original of course, the first tea rooms were in Harrogate a few miles away, and it’s still there, but this is the next most famous,” Aziraphale was explaining. “They serve the most famous high tea in Yorkshire, as you can see from the queue out the door, it’s very popular, hence the reservation for lunch.”

They were ushered into the timelessly elegant restaurant and had a light lunch followed by a selection of fine pastries and cake slices arranged delicately on a three tier cake stand as a tasting experience, little bite-sized samples of each item on offer that day, Crowley hid behind the safety of his shades as he took in the delectable sight of Aziraphale enjoying each mouthful with happy little noises and wriggles in his seat. 

“It’s marvellous, isn’t it?” Aziraphale was positively glowing with contentment, and looked every inch an angel in that moment, his blonde-white hair a veritable halo around his head, backlit by the warm lighting. Crowley nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to articulate a coherent sentence for a moment. 

When the waitress brought the bill to the table, Crowley snatched it up before Aziraphale could lay hands on it. “It’s the least I can do for you using your day off to show me around the city,” he insisted. “I’m getting a tour from a literal angel, at the very least I should buy you lunch,” he winked. He was gratified to receive yet another precious little smile from the angel.

After lunch they sauntered along to York Art Gallery, where Aziraphale seemed to be very knowledgeable about most of the pieces. He talked about them as if they were old friends. “This one,” he began, in front of an enormous oil painting of a game pantry with deer, swan and even a peacock amongst the carcasses in the image, “used to fascinate me. I’m not sure why, but when I was younger I’d just stare at this one for ages.”

“Ducks.” Said Crowley. 

“Pardon?”

“Right there, under the table, ducks,” he pointed out in the painting. “I like ducks,” he commented with a little smile.

“Well we can go and feed ducks down by the river later if you like.” Aziraphale offered. They made their way out and ambled around the museum gardens next door for a while before taking a seat on a bench to take in the tranquility of the site and relax. 

As they relaxed and chatted, conversation flowing easily, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale had been calling him just Crowley for a few hours at least, without prefacing it with “Mr.” Something about that made him feel all fuzzy inside. He noticed an ice cream van parking up outside the museum. 

“Ice cream?”

“Oh, yes please, a 99 for me, here…” Aziraphale reached for his wallet but Crowley waved it away. 

“My treat, I’ll be back in a sec.”

After they’d enjoyed their ice creams, they visited the Merchant Adventurer’s Hall, a glorious ancient half timbered edifice oozing history, like much of the city, and then toured a few shops. 

As afternoon crept into evening, Aziraphale led them past the York Opera House and down a steep narrow street leading toward the river and stopped at a doorway of an old narrow warehouse with an inviting flourish. “Welcome to Plonker’s Bar. Here’s a tip: you’re a plonker if you ask for a pint. I mean they do serve pints but it’s a wine bar, and it’d be remiss to pass up on some of their vintages. Let’s get dinner shall we?”

They stepped down into the curious small restaurant, and Aziraphale ordered them a nice bottle of red. Crowley invited him to order for him, and the conversation flowed rather easier with the wine. 

“Oh there’s so much more to see, there’s Clifford’s Tower, York Castle museum, the Jorvik viking centre, the Mansion house, and oh, the National Railway Museum - if you like cars and mechanical things you’re going to simply love that one, shall we do that tomorrow? I’m owed some leave I haven’t taken and we aren’t busy this week at the hotel, I wouldn’t mind taking a day or two off and showing you around, that is…” Aziraphale hesitated, unsure all of a sudden. “That is, if you’d like. I do hope I’m not being presumptuous, please do say if you’d rather take all of this in on your own.”

Crowley shook his head frantically. “No, nononono, please, I’d love it, if you want to, I mean don’t use up your holiday on me, but if you do want to, I’d um… er…” he swallowed, realising he was sounding a little too desperate, “... um, want to as well,” he finished, feebly. 

“Oh Crowley, I’d enjoy nothing more. I simply adore showing the place off, and you are the most delightful company.”

* * *

The next morning was spent wandering around the National Railway Museum. Crowley was enamoured with the genuine Japanese Shinkansen bullet train, the only one outside Japan. After a lunch at the Lowther down by the riverside, they headed up to York Mansion house to wander around the exhibits there. Aziraphale stopped to admire a display of beautiful swords. 

“I used to dabble in broadsword fighting when I was at uni, did some mediaeval re-enanctment with some friends. I used to have a sword,” he remarked idly. 

“You had a sword?”   


“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded with a fond smile as he reminisced in his own head over days gone by. 

“Well what happened to it? Lost it did you?”

“I gave it away.”   
  
“You what?”

“I gave it away, I had a knee injury and couldn’t really do it any more, so I gave it to a younger student who had taken up the hobby, I think his name was Adam, lovely chap. His girlfriend was expecting, I often wonder what became of them.”

Afterwards Aziraphale took them along to the Jorvik Viking centre, and finished with dinner at the Roman Bath House pub, where they admired the ruins of an old Roman baths discovered in the cellars during renovations, and now displayed behind glass. 

Everything just seemed so natural with Aziraphale, they had hit it off so quickly, and it was as if they’d known each other forever. They made their way back to the hotel, taking in a loop of the ancient city walls along the way, still standing after centuries, through one of the old city gateways and back to the hotel, to relax in the library with a brandy each and more easy conversation before each retired to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Aziraphale was buzzing with excitement. “I do hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got us some tickets for the Grand Opera House this evening, there’s a production of Bizet’s  _ Carmen _ , my favourite, would you care to join me, Crowley?” He paused, uncertain, then babbled on a little. “I mean, if you want to, that is, I was planning on going anyway, but would have had to go alone and I just wondered if you might…”

Crowely raised his eyebrows in surprise over his brioche. “Heh, that one was my mum’s favourite as well, I’d love to.” He took a bite and a sip of coffee. “So what other delights have you got lined up for me today, Angel?” 

Aziraphale did a double take. “Did you just call me ‘Angel’?”

Crowley spluttered. “Oh fuck, sorry. I’ve just kind of been calling you that in my head since you told me about your name and your mum calling you cherub and all that, it just kind of slipped out…”

Aziraphale laughed gently. “Oh I don’t mind at all, it’s rather nice actually,” he sipped at his tea and continued. “I thought today you might like to see Clifford’s Tower and then the Castle Museum.”

“Sounds good, Angel,” Crowley replied with a wink and a grin. Aziraphale blushed behind his napkin. 

They climbed the steep embankment to Clifford’s Tower, then up further to view the city laid out below them from the top. The wind was blowing a little and slightly chilly atop the wall as they took in the view. As a few raindrops began to fall, Aziraphale withdrew a small folding umbrella from his coat and erected it, holding it invitingly toward Crowley to encourage him to step closer and join him under the small canopy, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, touching. Crowley felt a little shiver of something he couldn’t name fizz through his body at the contact. 

He glanced across at Aziraphale’s face as he pointed out landmarks and explained the history around them, more interested in his angelic features than his words. Aziraphale broke off and turned to meet his gaze, stuttering to a halt as he saw Crowley’s light hazel, almost golden eyes just peeking from behind his shades. Aziraphale paused, mouth open slightly, unsure what to say. 

“You really love this place, don’t you?” Crowley smiled at him. 

“Well, yes, I rather think I do.” He smiled back, then, flustered, returned his gaze to the horizon again. He could have sworn he felt Crowley’s hand just brush his own before he turned away. 

“Let’s get down and indoors before this rain gets any harder shall we, Angel?”

They made their way back down to the shelter of the Castle Museum, although they had to dodge hordes of school children on an outing for much of it. Crowley stopped to take in the recreated victorian street scene, complete with stuffed horses harnessed to cabs. “Eugh, hard on the buttocks, horses. Never did get on with them.”

“Oh, you rode?” Aziraphale was surprised. 

“Yeah, well no, kind of. My sister was into ponies as a kid and tried to get me to have a go sometimes, definitely not for me. She had this big black horse when she got older, last one I ever tried to sit on. I swear it had eyes like flame and sparks coming off it’s damn hooves. I fell off.”

After the museum they ambled around some different areas Aziraphale hadn’t shown him yet, including a couple more old bookshops, where Aziraphale stumbled upon a rare misprint bible that he seemed rather excited about. He took in the price tag with a sad smile and set it back on the shelf again with a sigh. 

Once outside Crowley nodded in the direction of a coffee shop. “Shall we grab a cuppa before we carry on?” When Azirpahale nodded assent, Crowley grinned. “Ok, looks like there’s a bit of a queue, would you mind waiting there, you can order for me, I’m just going to find a public bathroom quickly and I’ll be right back.”

A short while later, Aziraphale took a seat inside the cafe with his pot of earl grey and a cappuccino for Crowley, when the skinny redhead walked in and slid into the seat opposite him. 

“Oh, cheers for that, Angel.” He took a slurp, then pushed a brown paper bag across the table to Aziraphale with a sly grin. He took it, mystified, and opened it. His face lit up like a light had just opened from the heavens to illuminate him, and he withdrew the misprint bible in silent surprise, turning it over in his hands, quite overwhelmed.

“What on earth? Oh! The book! Crowley, you shouldn’t have, you really shouldn’t, dear boy…” He looked up into a pair of gently laughing amber eyes, shades set aside on the table for now. 

“It’s no big deal, Angel. You gave me a couple of books the other day, I got you one, fair’s fair. Plus you’re my own personal tour guide.  _ And  _ you’re taking me to the opera tonight, feel like I can’t keep up.” 

Aziraphale, having seen the price tag, was quite overwhelmed. “Thank you Crowley, that was very kind of you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley grinned back, without any bite, and sipped at his coffee. 

They went back to the hotel to change into smart evening wear before heading out again to the opera house. It turned out that Aziraphale had reserved them a box, fortunately with a good view of the English subtitles on a screen at the top of the stage, as the opera was sung in the original French. Aziraphale admitted that his own French was rather rusty, so he appreciated the translation as well. 

“I had a terrible time visiting Paris a few years ago,” he confessed during the interval. “I nearly got arrested over a misunderstanding, I admit I was having a bit of a panic and couldn’t at all remember my French lessons from school, but fortunately the policeman spoke English and it was all cleared up.”

Crowley laughed. “I would have swept in there and rescued you if I’d known, Angel.” They sipped their wine in the lounge before the second act was announced and made their way back to their box. As José fell to his knees and sang of his love for Carmen in the final act, Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand creep into his, as the beautiful blonde gazed rapt at the stage, mouth open and tears pricking at his eyes. Crowley’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he quietly enjoyed the contact, unsure if Aziraphale was even aware he was doing it. 

As the curtain went down, Crowley gave the hand a little squeeze, and Aziraphale turned to look at him in surprise, before glancing down at their hands between them. When his gaze met Crowley’s again, there was a moment of something he couldn’t put a name to, before they were interrupted by the curtain going up again for the cast to take another bow to the rapturous applause, and the moment was lost. 

They walked back to the hotel side by side, and enjoyed another brandy by the fireside in the plush leather sofas of the lounge bar, which they had to themselves, before retiring to bed.

* * *

The next day, they caught a bus to Harrogate, visited the pump rooms, the turkish baths, and then took lunch in the original Betty’s Tea Rooms, before taking a walk through Valley Gardens, while Crowley named all the exotic plants and flowers planted there. 

After a while they came to a pond where Aziraphale produced a little brown bag of bird seed and oats for Crowley to feed the ducks. They sat side by side on a bench, enjoying the scent of the flowers around them. Crowley ran out of bird seed for a while and stood to toss the crumpled paper bag into a nearby bin, before retaking his seat on the bench next to Aziraphale, this time slightly closer than before. 

As they sat and watched the world go by, Crowley sighed and sprawled out a little, relaxing until one of his legs rested up against Aziraphale, testing the waters. He nearly swallowed his tongue when after a moment, Aziraphale’s hand fell on his thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. 

He didn’t dare turn his head to meet his gaze just yet, but instead allowed his own hand to fall on top of the one on his leg, and gave a gentle squeeze in return. “Thank you for doing all this for me, Angel, I haven’t felt so relaxed in years, this is probably the loveliest holiday I’ve taken in ages, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Not at all, dear boy, it’s been a delight, I had holiday owed from work anyway, I hadn’t been able to think of a nice way to spend it, and I couldn’t think of a nicer way to do so than spending the time with you, Crowley.”

At that, Crowley finally turned to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, and the softest look on his face. 

“Oh Angel…” he breathed, unsure what else to say. Aziraphale turned his hand up underneath Crowley’s, and twined their fingers together. Crowley glanced down at their joined hands nervously, then back up again to meet Aziraphale’s beautiful blue eyes, his soft pink lips slightly parted, and breathing a little faster than before. 

He closed the gap between them to kiss him. 

Aziraphale leaned into the kiss eagerly, his free hand coming up to stroke through Crowley’s short red hair and to caress the nape of his neck. Crowley shivered and pressed closer, bringing his own free hand around Aziraphale’s waist and pulling him close, losing himself in the beauty of the sensations. 

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally broke off, flushed and nervous. Crowley tried to hide his nerves with a chuckle “well… that was a thing” he muttered shyly, glancing up at Aziraphale, equally flustered, and then the angelic being was yanking him close and initiating the kiss this time, hard and passionate, until someone passing by tutted audibly and they finally broke off again, embarrassed. 

“These past few days have been wonderful, Angel. Thank you.”

“The pleasure has been all mine, dearest, thank you. Shall we get the bus back now?”

Crowley smiled and nodded, he stood, and took Aziraphale’s hand as they walked back to the bus stop, and they held hands the entire way back. They took dinner together in the restaurant at the hotel, then retired to the library for brandy, this time sharing a sofa, and some closeness. 

“It’s my last day here tomorrow, I have to check out in the morning.” Crowley observed quietly, while he leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, enjoying having his hair stroked. “I have to go back to London.”

Aziraphale looked wistful. “You know, I haven’t been to London in years, and I still have several days holiday left to use up…” He met Crowley’s gaze with a sly smile. “Perhaps you could show me around?”

Crowley laughed and kissed him. “You can stay at my place… if you like?”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this was loosely based on a true story - I did indeed win a weekend away for 2 in York, staying at a 5 star Georgian hotel which had it's own library. I used to live near York when I was at boarding school and frequented it in the 90s so it was nice to return. I came down from the North East & my Angel came up from London. While I waited for him to arrive the 1st afternoon, I did indeed explore the library, and find a few books I loved. I asked a friendly member of staff I might be allowed to buy them. The conversation was exactly as with Aziraphale and Crowley - one belonged to the family and I was gifted the rest, including a book on cars (the story of the Shelby Cobra), and an original copy of the true story that inspired the film "War Horse". 
> 
> There was indeed a lovely antique bookshop just down the road from the hotel. Plonkers bar was somewhere I'd sneak into using my elder sister's ID when I was under 18 (18 being legal drinking age here). I wanted to include the Bonding Warehouse as well, which was a huge restaurant and night club in the 90s but not any more. 
> 
> I also went to York to see Bizet's Carmen once, but had limited view seats, which turned out to mean that I couldn't see the subtitles screen at the top of the stage and had no idea what was going on. I still love the music though. 
> 
> Also, the first Terry Pratchett book I ever bought was in Waterstones in York, I almost certainly bought my copy of Good Omens there, as the majority of my 1990s collection were from there. 
> 
> So ok, yes, this was just one big nostalgia trip for me. But seriously, if you ever come to the UK, don't just see London then go home - come up North as well, it's worth it. If you're *already* in the UK and never been North, do it. It's lovely. Do County Durham as well.
> 
> * * *
> 
> EDIT: the hotel was *loosely* based on this one, the real one I stayed at: [www.grangehotel.co.uk](https://www.grangehotel.co.uk). The conservatory wasn't real as far as I can recall, but the library is, as was the the lovely member of staff who gifted me the books. You can't see the Minster tower from the dining room however, that was a literary liberty. It is amazing though.


	21. #GOC2020 prompt 18: Wayward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random silly comedy. Aziraphale accompanies Anathema and teenage Pepper on a protest march in London. It does not go well, Crowley to the rescue. Short one this time! under 1k.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: General audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

Aziraphale heard the comedic toot of Dick Turpin’s horn outside the bookshop and hastened outside to meet Anathema, who was driving it today. Pepper sat in the back seat, both smiled broadly at the angel as he settled himself in the front passenger seat. “Good morning ladies. I wasn’t expecting you to come along as well, Pepper.”

Pepper shrugged. “Mum said so long as I’m with Anathema it’s all good. I  _ am  _ sixteen now after all.”

“But it’s a protest march, how on earth is your mum happy with you coming all the way to London for a protest march?”

“Mum said by the time she was my age she’d been on at least three, she’s all for it. She and Anathema are best buddies now.”

Aziraphale exchanged a glance with Anathema, who nodded. “She’s lovely, a retired hippie she calls herself, very progressive, and she bakes the most delicious vegan chocolate cake. Not to mention the edibles.”

They made their way across London until Anathema finally found a parking space for the Reliant Robin and parallel parked it, then began fishing protest banners from the back with Pepper’s help. She handed one to Aziraphale. He inspected it with mild consternation, then handed it back to her. “I think, perhaps, I’d like a different sign to that one, if that’s alright with you, dear.” Pepper read the sign and laughed, then handed him her own. 

“Here you go, bit more polite, I’ll take the rude one.”

They walked off to join the protest.

* * *

Approximately fifty eight minutes later, they sat together in the back of a police van. 

Aziraphale sighed at Anathema. “Did you really  _ have  _ to, dear?”

Anathema pouted. “Well he was being a misogynistic racist bastard.”

“I don’t mean the unsavoury person you whacked with your sign, I mean what you did to the policeman who tried to remove said sign. Poor chap didn’t deserve that.”

“Bloody did” muttered Anathema under her breath. 

A little while later they sat on a bench in a holding area near intake in a very busy police station. Azirpahale seemed remarkably unruffled. “Don’t worry, I’ve been arrested before, I’ll get us out of this.”

Pepper stared at him, perplexed. “YOU’VE been arrested before?” The angel nodded proudly. 

“What for?” 

Aziraphale scrunched his face up, trying to think of a way to explain the whole crêpes business, failed, and instead shrugged. 

“Oh, it was a long time ago, I can’t rightly remember,” he muttered vaguely.

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “So, how do we get out of this then? What do you do?”

Aziraphale smiled proudly. “I’m doing it.”

“You’re just sitting there,” Pepper pointed out.

“We just have to wait,” the angel said, primly. 

Anathema put her head in her hands. “I’m gonna get deported, aren’t I?”

“Have a little faith, dear.”

“Can’t you just miracle us out?” Pepper asked, confused.

“But that would be against the law, dear.”

They waited, while the queue of other detainees were processed ahead of them at the intake desk one by one. A particularly belligerent person caused somewhat of a kerfuffle necessitating several police officers to restrain them, dragging the process on rather longer than necessary. 

Presently, Crowley sauntered in. He smirked when he saw Aziraphale handcuffed sitting on the bench. “Hi, Angel, I guess you need my help.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I wouldn’t phrase it  _ exactly  _ like that…”

Crowley raised a cynical eyebrow. “Well, if you  _ want  _ my help, you’d better phrase it  _ exactly  _ like that.”

Anathema swiped at Aziraphale with her elbow and smiled at the demon. “Crowley, we need your help.” He grinned and took a small bow. 

“Certainly, my pleasure.” He turned to the nearest officer and flicked his head. “Oi, I’m here for this lot.”

A police officer walked up to them and looked Crowley up and down, he turned to Pepper. 

“Is this your dad?”

Crowley’s brows knitted in confusion. “No.”

“Yes.” Pepper said at the same time, glaring at Crowley pointedly.

“...Yes.” Corrected Crowley, perplexed.

“Are you sure sir?” the copper was looking suspicious. Crowley sighed and snapped his fingers. Everybody save the four of them froze at once. Another snap made the handcuffs fall to the floor. Aziraphale looked faintly disappointed, he reached down to pick up his pair and shoved them in his pocket, hoping nobody noticed. 

Crowley snapped again and they were all standing outside the police station, two streets away. Aziraphale kissed his husband. “Thank you, darling.” Crowley gave him a little squeeze. 

“I swear you do this on purpose, Angel.”

“Not at all, we have Anathema to thank for today, not my fault at all, but we are very lucky to have you, dear.”

“So no crêpes involved this time, then?”

Anathema looked confused. “Crêpes? You were arrested over _crêpes?_ _How?_ ”

Aziraphale avoided eye contact. “It was a long story.”

Pepper was scrutinising the angel and demon suspiciously. “I thought you said miracling us out was against the law?”

Anathema honestly didn’t care, so long as she was out. “Well Crowley  _ is  _ a demon, I think that’s just what he does, Pepper.” Pepper rolled her eyes. Aziraphale looked at Crowley. Crowley sighed. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a word, darling.”

“No, but you thought it very loudly.”

Aziraphale pulled the edge of the handcuffs out the top of his jacket pocket where Crowley could glimpse them and winked. Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, I’d better get you load of wayward degenerates home again, come on, Bentlely’s round the corner. I’ll drop you off wherever you parked that hideous little blue thing.”


	22. #GOC2020 prompt 19: Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley treats Aziraphale to a quiet night star gazing, words are shared, feelings are confessed, love is felt, and has a curious side effect on Crowley... SFW fluff  
>    
> **Now ILLUSTRATED by Yvesriba[CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281467) to see**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> Warnings: non explicit mention of something being akin to drug use, without actual drug use. No other warnings apply.

So close. 

He was right there. Inches, just inches away. 

Crowley’s hand flexed gently where it lay on the car seat by his thigh. He could glimpse the angel’s hand from the corner of his eye, despite the darkness surrounding them, lightly resting on the edge of his seat too. If he were to just reach out his little finger he’d brush the side of that perfect hand. 

The Bentley made quiet little _pink-pink_ noises as hot metal cooled in the still night air. Aziraphale was staring out of the windscreen at the clear sky, admiring the stars. Crowley drew his breath and carried on. “That one as well, just to the left of cassiopeia, down a bit - yes, she’s one of mine too.” Aziraphale smiled softly. 

“She’s beautiful, Crowley.”

The demon couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t have his shades on and his eyes seemed to glow golden, his pupils wide, missing nothing in the dim confines of the car, he didn’t miss the angel’s gaze flicking to his lips then guiltily away, to stare out at the constellations again. Crowley’s gaze traced the profile of Aziraphale’s face, the lightly furrowed brow, slightly worried eyebrows, slightly upturned nose and gently parted lips. the demon’s eyes sliding down taking in the miniscule flutter of the angel’s rapid heartbeat at the artery just under the skin below his jaw, speaking of some anxiety lurking below the principality’s otherwise only mildly ruffled exterior. 

Crowley allowed his little finger to reach out gently, just brushing against the back of Aziraphale’s hand. He saw the jolt of surprise, and the fluttering of the pulse leap and accelerate accordingly, although the angel didn’t take his gaze from the stars. He did, however, swallow and speak. 

“Apart from the stars, do you remember much else from… before?”

It was Crowley’s turn to still and feel his traitorous heart stutter. He couldn’t think what to say, then Aziraphale’s face was turning to his again, worried, and Crowley shook his head slightly, looking down, tears pricking at his eyes. He blinked then averted his gaze, looking out at his stars himself, trying to avoid eye contact with the angel. 

He felt Aziraphale’s hand move and gently enclose his, giving it a soft squeeze. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale could see the slight glimmer of unshed tears brimming at the corner of Crowley’s eyes, and bit his lip, worried that he’d upset him. He brushed his thumb over the back of the demon’s hand, feeling the softness of the dusting of hair on the back of it. Crowley continued to stare out of the car, but gently squeezed back for a brief moment. 

“Crowley…” the angel murmured softly. Crowley reluctantly dragged his face back to look at him again. Blue eyes sincere in the gloom, searching his for something. 

“Aziraphale?”

The angel smiled at him. “You look as scared as I am, Crowley.” 

No point denying it. He nodded. 

“Is it because… because ever since what happened, we’ve been able to be closer, and, and now…” Aziraphale trailed off. 

“... And now I don’t know what to do with it?” Crowley finished for him. Aziraphale nodded. 

“Me too.”

“What should we do with it, do you think?” Crowley managed after a pause. Aziraphale glanced away briefly, closed his hand tighter around Crowley’s again, and then looked back, gazing deep into his eyes. 

“Get closer?” He hesitated, expression worried about what the demon’s response might be. Crowley nodded. 

“Closer.”

They each swayed forward closing the gap between them, exploring each other’s expressions anxiously, breaths shallow and afraid. Aziraphale may have been the first to place their hands together, but it was Crowley who was first to reach out with the other, to cup the angel’s jaw, to brush a thumb over those soft lips, and then to press forward and bring his own lips to Aziraphale’s. 

Crowley marvelled at the soft sweet plumpness of the angel’s lips, yielding and giving, pressing against his own. He pushed forward with his tongue, meeting the angel’s in a gentle caress, sliding together and lost utterly in the sensation that left his mind a whirling haze of bilss. 

Aziraphale’s arms were moving around his body, pulling him closer, holding him tighter, and Crowley fisted one hand in the soft cloudlike curls of the angel’s hair before releasing and sliding down his back to crush their bodies together. He could feel something more in the kiss though, pure unadulterated angelic love pouring through the contact, filling him up like liquid gold, and filling all the cracks in his broken soul. 

His hands started to tingle, in a way he hadn’t felt for thousands of years. In a way he barely even remembered until it happened. Crowley reluctantly broke off, and stared at his hands, confused. Aziraphale, equally confused, took in the sight of the demon staring at his own hands between them, and took each one in turn and kissed the palm reverently. The tingling grew stronger. 

“Aziraphale… what’s happening?”

“I don’t know, what do you mean, Crowley?”

“This feels familiar. I don’t know how, but it does. Your kiss did something to me.”

The angel looked alarmed. “Crowley, are you ok? Did I hurt you? Is it burning? Is…” Crowley cut him off, shaking his head urgently. 

“No, no.. nothing like that, it’s nice actually, it’s weird, it’s hard to remember though, something… I don’t know, like there’s something on the tip of my tongue, on the tip of my brain but I can’t quite grab it…”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “May I be on the tip of your tongue again then?” Crowley gave a little half laugh and allowed the angel to capture his lips again with his own, and the pure well of love again surged into his corporation. Crowley lifted off to gaze into his angel’s clear blue eyes. “I can feel your love, Aziraphale.”

“You can? I thought demons couldn’t feel love.”

“I couldn’t, until now. It’s come back. I could feel it before, a long time ago, sense it I mean. I could feel it in the way of _giving_ it, I’ve been able to love you for millennia, Aziraphale, but I haven’t been able to just _sense_ it like you do, until we kissed.”

“You… you’ve loved me? For millennia?” Aziraphale was wide eyed. 

“You never noticed?” Crowley smiled fondly. 

“Well, perhaps. Now and then, some times more than others, I suspected but was never sure, never completely certain it was from you. It was more in your actions, Crowley, how you showed me that you cared. I knew you were my friend. I never understood that you were able to love me, not like this, not like now.” He bit his lip nervously before continuing. 

“Could you ever feel mine? For you?” he met Crowley’s gaze again uncertainly. 

Crowley looked downcast. “I couldn’t sense it, not until just now, I tried to see it, wished and hoped it might be there, but I was never sure. I didn’t know mine was reciprocated like that, any more than a friendship.”

“Well it was. I’m not surprised it wasn’t always obvious, I’m sorry Crowley, I had to try to hide it, I couldn’t let above know. Not before. It hardly matters anymore though, does it? We have the rest of eternity to ourselves.” He kissed the demon again tenderly. “But I _do_ love you Crowley.” Their lips met again, as if drawn together by forces stronger than gravity.

When they paused again, Aziraphale was looking at him strangely. 

“Crowley, you aura…”

“What about my aura?”

“It’s usually red and black, look at yourself dear.” Crowley did. His aura was now a more copper than black or dark red. As he looked at his hands again though, the copper brightened to gold. They still tingled. He sat back to study them intently. Aziraphale watched him quietly, one hand resting on the demon’s thigh reassuringly. 

Crowley turned his hands over and wiggled his fingers gently. Something about it all felt familiar somehow. On the other hand he felt he probably looked like a human who’d dropped some serious drugs and was now spending too much time just staring at their own hands waving about. He tried to concentrate. It was something to do with power, he was sure. Something just beyond reach. 

He allowed his power to surge up into one hand, staring intently at it, cupped his palm slightly and concentrated hard. He felt a warmth suffusing his arm and concentrating in his fingertips, but he felt somehow that wasn’t quite right yet, so he pulled it back into his palm, closed his fist for a second, allowed a brief pulse in his power to manifest in his fist, then opened it again cautiously. 

A tiny glowing orb floated above his hand. He stared at it in silent amazement. Aziraphale did too, completely perplexed. Crowley started to realise what he’d just done. His jaw dropped in amazement. 

“What is that?” Aziraphale’s voice was tinged with wonder. Crowley looked up to meet his gaze, his golden eyes glowing with the reflected light from the tiny thing in his hand. His voice shook. 

“A star.”

Aziraphale gaped, eyes wide in shock. 

“But… but how… how could… you’re a _demon…_ you…” The angel was stammering, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “And it’s so _small_.”

Crowley gave a slight half smile, then with his free hand, reached for the car door handle and stepped out cautiously. Aziraphale got out as well. Crowley stood, never taking his eyes from the tiny star spinning gently above his palm. 

“It’s only tiny now. It’ll all get a bit exponential once I’ve launched it. I haven’t done this in so long. I didn’t remember how, but it’s coming back…” He allowed his power now to flow to his fingertips, and used them to guide the star, twirling it upward and around until it orbited his hand slowly. With a flick of a finger it’s orbit changed briefly before he beckoned it back to its original position again. He glanced up at Aziraphale. 

“Shall we confuse a few astronomers, Angel?” He grinned mischievously. “I’m naming this one Aziraphale.” 

With that, he enveloped the dancing point of light in his fist again, drew his arm back and then hurled it with all his strength toward the sky. Aziraphale followed its movement with his eyes. It shouldn’t have been possible on any reasonable plane of reality for any of this to be happening, for a demon to be creating a star again as if he’d never fallen, for said star to manifest as something the size of a garden pea without having a density that caused an immediate rupture in the fabric of the universe, or for it to cross billions of light years of time and space in what appeared to be a few short seconds, growing to thousands of times the size of Earth’s sun as it did so, before settling in a distant galaxy as if it had always resided there. 

But ethereal magic and star making doesn’t have to abide by any of the laws of physics if it doesn’t want to - it _creates_ physics. Crowley just did what he’d been made for, and did it with an ease borne of timeless aeons of practise. 

A new star hung in the sky. Crowley gazed at it, and wound his slim arm around his angel’s waist, tugging him close. He turned to press a tender kiss to his love’s forehead, then rested his head against the angel’s as they stared up at the sky together. 

“That one’s yours, Aziraphale. Or ours. Our star, for our side.”

* * *

**Now ILLUSTRATED by Yvesriba[CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281467) to see**


	23. #GOC2020 prompt 20: Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Poetry prompt I'm linking to my first Good Omens poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: General Audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply

For this one I'm going to link to my first Good Omens poem, **"Haloes".** Click below to read :

** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314641> **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow you get a fresh comedy fic for "Garden" prompt.


	24. #GOC2020 prompt 21: Garden *ILLUSTRATED* by Elwyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley settle into their new cottage, and Crowley has some work to do in order to tidy up the overgrown garden. His artistic skills draw the attention of a certain villager. Aziraphale is unimpressed with the shenanigans.  
>  **Now ILLUSTRATED by[ELWYST](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300151)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen and up?  
> Warnings: mention of penises for comedic effect

Crowley studied the overgrown yew hedges and trees around the permieter of the garden with a mischevious glint in his eye, imagining all the possibilities. He stalked to the boot of the Bentley to unpack his selection of new gardening tools from his trip to B&Q, gazing down at the gleaming sharp blades like a very niche torturer’s chamber table, eyes gleaming in anticipation of the havoc he was about to wreak. 

He’d had to make sure that Aziraphale was out shopping in Brighton when he started, by the time he got home, it’d be too late to stop Crowley’s plans. 

He was a demon, he had to have _some_ outlet. 

He’d go batty if he didn’t. 

Crowlely eyed up the closest bit of hedge, smirked to himself and hefted the hedge trimmer, firing up the little petrol engine, the sudden bark of noise scaring every bird in the area into flight in a split second, then he descended on the hedge like a vengeful angel smiting it into submission.

* * *

Peter George Tyler, or P.G. Tyler, of Fulking, Henfield, near Devils Dyke, had a brother who lived over in Tadfield in Oxfordshire, who went by the name of R. P. Tyler. The brothers had a lot in common. 

Both looked very similar, both were chairmen of their respective Neighbourhood Watch groups, both had small, yappy little dogs, who served as a perfect excuse to walk around their villages, being nosey and complaining about things. 

He had decided to take his shi-tzu on a walk down to the cottage past the edge of the village where that new couple had just moved in, he’d seen them in the Shepherd and Dog pub enjoying a Sunday lunch together the other week. They had an antique Bentley. The blonde chap looked a decent sort, but P. G. Tyler wasn’t sure he approved of the flash looking redhead at all. He resolved to keep a close eye on them. 

The cottage had been abandoned for quite some time before they bought it, and the extensive garden had fallen into disrepair and substantial overgrowth. He was mildly gratified to hear the raucous sound of garden tools, presumably in the process of taming some of the vegetation back into a semblance of tidiness. 

Whilst he didn’t appreciate the sounds of the machinery, he was pleased that the new occupants at least appeared to be making efforts to restore the place, so he’d overlook it on this instance. 

That was, at least, until the cottage itself hove into view over the little rise in the lane. P. G. Tyler stopped so sharply in his tracks that his dog yelped at the sudden cessation of movement. 

It took P. G. Tyler some moments to come to terms with what he was looking at. The yew hedges had indeed been carefully sculpted into a new shape, several new shapes in fact. Unfortunately those shapes were extremely…

… phallic.

Whatever they were, they were definitely _not_ PG. 

The hedge was fairly normal until it got to it’s old height of about 3 feet tall. Above that point, the new growth that went up to about 6 feet, it was all a line of sculpted penises. Small ones, long ones, thin ones, thick ones, bendy ones, and even a non erect one along the end where the hedge bent over slightly. 

* * *

**[CLICK HERE FOR ILLUSTRATION by ELWYST](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300151) **

* * *

Then he espied the crazed redhead busy carving out another one along the next side of the garden, a manic grin on his deranged features. He was wearing ripped black skinny jeans, a black sleeveless t-shirt proclaiming to be from a band named “Hang the Bastard”, thick gardening gloves and a thin sheen of sweat all over his lean body. He wore ridiculous shades. 

P.G. Tyler was not sure what to say. All sorts of indignant diatribes began assembling themselves in his head, but he was also wary, not sure what might happen if he were to put voice to any of them directly to this chap’s face. The man _was_ weilding what amounted to a small chainsaw after all. 

Instead, he began mentally composing a letter in his head to the local newspaper, in outrage at the indignity being committed against the sanctity of their historic village by some raucous London upstarts with pornographic tendencies. 

Then the hedge trimmer cut off abruptly, plunging the lane back into silence again. P. G. Tyler looked up in alarm, to meet the gaze of the new cottage occupant grinning at him from between two 3-foot-tall topiary shafts. 

“Hi, Anthony Crowley, just moved in here.” The redhead yanked the glove off one hand and extended it through the gap between the two pairs of leafy testicles to shake Tyler’s hand. P. G. Tyler’s eyes flew wide in shock, but the very Britishness instilled into his psyche couldn’t allow an extended hand to go unshaken, and he dumbly found himself reaching out to accept the gesture wordlessly. 

Then he realised that Anthony had a questioning eyebrow raised above those shades waiting for a reply. “Oh, Uh, P. G. Tyler, chairman of Fulking Neighbourhood Watch. I….” He trailed off, mouth open, his gaze travelling up the erect foliage dildo. “...you, um… like gardening then, I take it?” He finished, weakly. 

“Oh yeah, I met a nice lady in the village the other day, Suzanne, runs the Ginger Jungle, got a lot in common, me and her. She brought some nice houseplants over as a housewarming gift after we got chatting in the pub.”*

Tyler didn’t know what else to say, but was saved by the arrival of the primly dressed blonde gentleman, who walked up the lane from the bus stop. He stopped in the lane, aghast, and glared at the the redhead in an expression that Tyler was all too familiar with from his wife. The expression said, entirely without need for words, that as soon as they were alone, _words_ were going to be had. _Serious_ words. 

“Oh, hi love, meet Mr. Tyler, he’s in charge of the Neighbourhood Watch around here. Mr. Tyler, this is my husband, Aziraphale Fell.” 

The blonde gent in the smart, if aged, pale suit approached with a genuinely warm smile, interrupted by a brief dark look at his husband, stepped forward to shake hands. “Delighted to meet you, dear fellow. I am so sorry if my husband has been, er, causing a scene, rest assured we shall be having a little chat about this in due course.”

  
P.G. Tyler nodded stiffly. “Yes, well, I’m sure you two certainly have some issues to…” he flung a pointed look at the leafy bollocks and penile monstrosities, “.... discuss. Good day, gentlemen.” He nodded again and stalked off, dragging his little shi-tzu with him. 

Azirpahale rounded on Crowley, whose easy grin vanished in a split second at the thunderous look on his husband’s face. “Angel, wait. I can explain…”

“EXPLAIN? What possible explanation could there be for creating a pornographic hedge around our _house_ Crowley?” 

“Well, yew is perfect for topiary, and it needed cutting back anyway, so I just thought I’d have a play, but don’t worry, I just sculpted the top bit, I can lop it all off and leave the stuff below as a normal straight hedge, I was just having a laugh. I’d seen that P. G. Tips dude lurking around the village and had him pegged as just the sort of uptight bastard that’d get all upset over something like this, so decided to poke the bear a bit for a laugh first, before I trimmed it properly, see how long I could get away with it.”

Azirpahale glowered at him. “How long you can get away with it, my dear, is precisely the next half hour, by which time I want all of these _gone_.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am _not_ talking to you Crowley. I’m going in for a cup of tea, and I don’t want to see you until all penises have been removed from this garden.”

“Including mine?”

Aziraphale glared at him and stomped into the house.

* * *

A while later, Crowley crept into the house. He disappeared upstairs and had a shower, got changed, and slunk downstairs to where Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa reading and enjoying a cup of tea. Crowley disappeared into the kitchen then emerged again and placed a packet of jaffa cakes on the arm of the sofa next to his husband’s elbow as a silent peace offering, before sitting down carefully next to him. 

Aziraphale ignored him. 

But after a while, he opened the packet of biscuits and ate one. 

Then another. 

Crowley shuffled closer on the sofa, then rested his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, looking up at him with a pitiful puppy-dog-eyed expression on his features, bottom lip pouted out slightly. 

“‘M sorry Angel” he murmured. 

Aziraphale ignored him.

“I chopped em all off.”

Aziraphale nodded, once. 

“I love you.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t like my penises then?”

Azirapahle bit his lip in a feeble effort not to allow a smile to crack the corner of his mouth. 

He failed. 

Crowley nudged forward and kissed his cheek fondly with a grin. “I knew you did really.”

Aziraphale snorted, met his husband’s gaze, and finally fell into gales of laughter with him, hugging him close and cackling too much to be able to breathe properly. 

“Yes, alright, it was funny. But he have neighbours, darling, we have to live with them and I have to be able to meet them with a straight face. Please don’t do it again.”

“Can’t make any promises, Angel.” Crowley giggled, and squished himself up against Aziraphale to give him a very thorough kissing. Aziraphale set his book aside and accepted the embrace, gradually sliding back on the sofa as Crowley climbed up to hug him better and wiggled his hips against him. Aziraphale broke off, a little confused and glanced down between them. 

Crowely followed his gaze, then grinned. “You did say you wanted all of my penises gone, Angel. Might make this evening more interesting anyway.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and batted at him playfully. “You’re an absolute menace, darling.”

“That’s why you married me, remember?”

The angel sighed. “Yes, I remember. Now get upstairs, you fiend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "The Ginger Jungle" is a genuine business based in Fulking. I thought that was way too hilarious not to include, in fact I nearly had Crowley own the damn business himself, but decided to leave it with it's real owner, but she's now his best buddy - two houseplant obsessed redheads. 
> 
> Devil's Dyke in the South Downs had been suggested by Neil Gaiman as the location for their cottage, and Fulking is the nearest village, as well as being close to being a naughty word so I thought that Crowley would have loved that one as a place to live.


	25. #GO30Challenge prompt 4 for 22-28th May “After the nopocalypse” AND  #GOC2020 prompt 22: "Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occult and ethereal beings have the power to shape reality around them. Sometimes they don’t even know they’re doing it. Which can play merry hell with physics. Aziraphale gets carried away and has a minor oops. Just more random ineffable husbands fluff again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> warnings: no warnings apply

Occult and ethereal beings have the power to shape reality around them. Sometimes they don’t even know they’re doing it. Which can play merry hell with physics. 

So when Aziraphale and Crowley bought their new home, a substantial cottage outside the village of Fulking near Devil’s Dyke on the South Downs, they ensured it met their needs as closely as possible. 

There was a lovely Victorian era conservatory on the back which Crowley could festoon with hothouse plants, a quiet study with adjoining library, a cellar below for the wine collection, a large farmhouse kitchen with aga as well as a modern double oven and large stove top, comfy lounge, dining room, luxurious family bathroom, four bedrooms, and an ensuite.

In the garden was a spacious greenhouse, two sheds - one a potting shed, the other implement storage, a cold frame, compost heap, expansive lawns, raised beds, winding paths, trellises for vines, a walled off vegetable garden, fish pond, and orchard of fruit trees. There was also an oak garage for the Bentely with adjoining workshop. 

But as Aziraphale set about unpacking his boxes and boxes of books, temporarily stored in the garage while the Bentely sat on the driveway, he lost himself in his work organising the tomes in a meticulous fashion. 

He filled shelf after shelf, emptying box after box, as he listened to his gramophone and some of his old records, simply waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the gramophone to miracle the next record into place when the previous one ended. He lost track of time entirely as the sun cast moving blocks of golden light across the room. 

Crowley, meanwhile, set about tidying the garden, after having settled his plants into the conservatory, and transplanting some outdoors. He thought it best to leave Aziraphale to his own devices and not interfere with the book shelving process. 

He dug another hole to transplant one of his plants that could live outdoors, while a bright orange Husqvarna robo mower trundled around the lawn behind him. Lydia had been delighted to get a lawn of her very own to play in again. 

As the sun went down, Crowley ventured indoors so he could start preparing some dinner. He thought he’d better check on Aziraphale first, and crept through to the library. He stood in the doorway and took in the scene. 

There were empty packing boxes everywhere, stacked all over the place in a jumble near the door, then a trail of them left behind between the bookshelves. Crowley was confused. On paper the room had measured about nineteen feet by twenty-two, at least when they moved in. 

But Aziraphale appeared to have forgotten that fact while distracted by shelving his collection, and it seemed to have grown along with him with each box he unpacked. It was now at least forty feet wide, and the length, as far as Crowley could tell, squinting down at the kneeling figure of his husband down the far end, was getting on close to about two hundred feet. 

He stepped back outside the cottage again and looked at the exterior. It was the same size as it had been that morning, at least on the outside. The inside had decided to grow along with the angel’s needs whilst not bothering with anything as trivial as exterior wall space. Crowley stepped back indoors, back into the library, and set off toward Aziraphale along the far end. 

He got there and greeted his husband with a kiss on the cheek as he stood to place a book on a higher shelf. “Hi love.”

Aziraphale snapped out of his reverie with a fond smile. “Oh Crowley darling, I quite lost track of time, is dinner ready?”

“Uh, not yet, but you quite lost track of space as well, Angel.”

“Space?”

“Aziraphale…,” Crowley stepped behind his husband, took him gently by the shoulders, then swivelled him to look back down the avenue of bookshelves between them and the door to the hallway. “...I think you’d better stop now before you end up in the next county, love.”

Aziraphale stared, slack jawed at the monstrosity of a room he’d accidentally created. 

“Oh good Lord!”

“Quite.” Crowley grinned. “Time for a bit of a break, care to join me on an expedition back to the hall again? I left a trail of crumbs, I’m sure we can make it in a week or two if we press on,” he joked, snuggling up to Aziraphale a little tighter and pressing a kiss to his neck playfully. 

“Oh stop it, you. I wasn’t paying attention, that’s all.” He paused and looked worried. “Do you think I ought to miracle it back again?”

“It’s your library, love, you can do with it what you like, but perhaps, in the interest of us maybe occasionally having humans over for tea, it might be a good idea, hmm?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I suppose I better had, really. I’ll tackle that one tomorrow I think. Let’s have dinner.” He took Crowley’s hand and they ambled back to the kitchen, where Aziraphale sat at the breakfast table, sipped some wine and watched as Crowley prepared some rainbow trout with steamed vegetables and rosemary sauteéd potatoes for them. 

After a while, they heard the rattle of the catflap as Lydia trundled in from the garden to settle down on her charging port next to Bob the Roomba, who beeped amiably at her. 


	26. #GOC2020 prompt 23: Cursed (ILLUSTRATED)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "Cursed" prompt, have a fic about Crowley's demonically cursed Bentley, and what happens when it accidentally gets washed in holy water, then what they have to do to put it right again afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: teen and up audiences  
> warnings: no warnings apply

For cursed have a proper full length SFW comedy fic, "Oh Lord, bless this Bentley". In order to keep up with daily prompts, occasionally I'm linking to an existing fic that meets the prompt already. There are more original works to follow in the upcoming chapters still, including a lengthy one for "Road Trip" on the 27th.  
  
Click below to read "Oh Lord, bless this Bentley" :

[ **https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066404/chapters/55172380** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066404/chapters/55172380)

Summary: when Crowley’s beloved Bentley gets accidentally washed in holy water, it undoes over 80 years worth of demonic miracles, with a plethora of unwanted side effects. Cue much chaos and ineffable husbands bickering over how to set things right again.

This epic bit of Ineffable Husbands / Ineffable Idiots comedy chaos is a total of 6 chapters. **Co written by GayDemonicDisaster and CousinSerena.** A gift for IneffableAlien, thanks for the inspiration, Plant Daddy!   
  
The final chapter is illustrated by Miele_Petite.


	27. #GOC2020 prompt 24: Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW slightly sad fluff - hurt and comfort. Aziraphale will *always* look after Crowley, even while he sleeps. Soft caring Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> Warnings: no warnings apply.

Aziraphale rarely slept but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t share a bed with Crowley every night. He just stayed awake reading while his husband slept beside him. 

He hadn’t at first, he’d gone through to the lounge to read, until the first time he’d heard the whimpering from the bedroom and gone to investigate. Crowley had been twitching on the bed, asleep but with a distressed expression creasing his features. The pitiful sobs had broken Aziraphale’s heart, so he’d climbed back into bed and cuddled the demon, kissed his shoulder, held him tight and stroked his hair, murmuring soothing noises against his skin until he gradually stilled and whatever torments were in his mind dissolved away. 

Aziraphale had snuggled Crowley for the rest of the night, watching as his expression softened into a peaceful dreamless sleep once more, and his breathing became regular again. After that he’d made a habit of remaining in bed while he read, so as to be alert for any more bad dreams. 

After a while he began to recognise their approach. Crowley’s breathing would begin to get shorter, and he’d begin to twitch ever so slightly, then Aziraphale would know that a bad one was imminent, and could forestall it by clutching him tight, stroking his hair and whispering to Crowley. 

“You’re ok, it’s not real, you’re safe love, I’m here, it’s ok, I’ve got you, you’re safe, I love you, you’re safe, it’s ok darling…” 

Sometimes Crowlely would wake up and then cuddle him back fiercely, whimpering but too distraught to say what his nightmare had been, just hugging the angel close and burying his nose in his chest before he began to relax then drifted back off to sleep, still holding onto at least some part of Aziraphale as he did, often clutching his hand, or spooning him if Aziraphale had rolled over, face pressed against his back, arm wrapped tight around the angel’s strong chest as if afraid he’d leave him. 

Once he got used to Aziraphale always being there to comfort him out of it by bringing him just enough out of REM sleep to break the dream, he sometimes didn’t wake fully at all, but would wrap himself around the angel in his sleep until he had calmed down and returned to a peaceful sleep once more. 

There was at least once that Crowley was thrashing around so much and making the most heartbreaking whimpers that Aziraphale had to hug his arms to his body to stop him flailing as he woke up then sobbed against the angel’s chest as he soothed and kissed the demon and the struggles subsided. 

“What was it, darling?” Aziraphale whispered into his hair as he held Crowley gently, rocking him slowly back and forth. 

Crowley shook his head. It took him a little while to get the words out. “Falling.” 

He didn’t, or couldn’t say any more. 

Aziraphale felt like his heart had been cracked open, and he pulled his husband closer to him, stroked his back and kissed him some more. 

“Don’t leave me, Aziraphale.”

“No. I’ll never leave you, my love. I swear to you that I’ll always remain here, I’ll watch over you as you sleep, and I’ll protect you even from the dreams. You have my word darling.”

And so he did. 

Aziraphale became so attuned to Crowley’s minutest movements and habits in his sleep that he was able to soothe him before the nightmare hit, forestalling the distress before it had chance to establish itself, and relaxing the demon back into a peaceful sleep again without even waking. 

Aziraphale would protect him, always. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I confess. I do this for the person I love. If I'm asleep, I can still detect the subtle changes in his sleep pattern - his breathing and twitching that foretells an oncoming nightmare, I'll wake up and can forestall it before it becomes too distressing for him.


	28. #GOC2020 prompt 25: Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale doesn't think he's anything special, Crowley is determined to tell his angel that he believes otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature (only just, could be teen and up)  
> warnings: no warnings apply

Aziraphale snuggled Crowley close, still finding it hard to believe that this gorgeous demon could be so enamoured with someone as stuffy and out of shape as himself. He’d wanted the lights off the first time they’d made love. Crowley hadn’t. They’d compromised with dim lighting, and the demon had tried to reassure him by pointedly worshipping every inch of his body with careful reverence, but still the self conscious shyness persisted. 

Because thousands of years of being put down by heaven was not going to go away overnight. No matter how magical that night may have been. 

Crowley stirred and rolled over, opening sleep hazed golden eyes with a soft smile at his love in the early morning sunshine that flooded through the bedroom window. “Morning gorgeous,” he murmured, and kissed Aziraphale’s shoulder with a feather light touch. “You’re beautiful, Angel.” Crowley whispered into his skin, then kissed it again. Aziraphale blushed. 

“You’re the beautiful one, darling.” Aziraphale rejoined. Crowley stilled and drew his head back to take in his love’s features seriously, concerned. 

“This isn’t a case where only one of us is allowed to be good looking, Angel. I mean it, you’re beautiful. You know I wouldn’t lie to you by now, surely?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Nonsense.”

Crowley growled deep in his chest. “No. It’s not. Just as you seem determined to insist that I’m good or nice, I’m equally determined to insist that you’re beautiful, Aziraphale. Whether you believe me or not is immaterial, it’s true. You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on, the most beautiful soul in this entire universe. And I won’t rest until you believe me.”

Aziraphale placed his face in his hands. Crowley sighed. “Don’t do that, Angel, gives me the heebie jeebies for some reason*, now come on…” he gently pulled Aziraphale’s hands away and regarded him frankly. “I love you Aziraphale. It’s nothing to do with your shape, your corporation, although that’s also beautiful, no matter what you think. I’m in love with your  _ soul _ , Angel. The very essence of your being, your mind, your love, the totality of you. I don’t care what form you wear, you’re always my beautiful, amazing Aziraphale, an utterly perfect being of purest love.”

The angel gazed at him, eyes wet with as-yet-unshed tears, threatening to brim over at any moment. “How can you mean that, darling? I’m just a bad angel, a failed angel, succumbing to all the sins of the flesh…” Crowley cut him off with a kiss. 

“No. You’re the angel who defied heaven to save the world. The only one. The angel who loved humanity so much he gave away his flaming sword. I think that was when the Almighty decided to appoint you here as guardian to mankind, she set you up to save the earth and everyone on it. You’re the best angel of them all. You followed love, not draconian rules.”

“Crowley, you were the one who had to persuade me to help you save the world.”

“Yes, but you  _ allowed  _ me to persuade you. D’you think if I’d gone sauntering up to Gabriel that it’d have worked? ‘Course not. He’d have got down to some serious smiting and then doused me in holy water to make sure I didn’t come back.  _ You  _ were the angel that She sent here, maybe She sent me to help you, who knows? But she decided  _ you  _ were the one, the perfect angel to protect her creations.”

He noticed that Aziraphale’s hands had once again come down to rest over the subtle swell of his stomach under the sheet, as if to conceal it. The demon gently lifted the hands away one by one, kissing each one before laying it down at Aziraphale’s sides on the bed. “Don’t hide, love.”

Aziraphale glanced away, only to feel Crowley’s fingers, gentle on his chin, encouraging him to turn his face back to meet his lips once more. “Show me yourself, Angel.” Aziraphale looked confused. “Show me.” Crowley let go of his chin and sat back, waiting. 

The angel hesitantly cast the sheet aside and rose from the bed, standing, naked, in the dappled sunlight. He didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes, but he heard the demon rise smoothly from the bed and saw Crowley stand before him, as naked as he was, breathing softly as he skimmed his form with lustful eyes. 

“Show me  _ yourself _ ,  _ Angel _ .” Crowley stressed the last two words carefully. 

“My… myself?” Aziraphale stuttered nervously. “What do you mean?”   


“You know what I mean, love,” Crowley murmured in his ear before kissing his cheek. “Your true self.” He ran the back of one tender hand down Aziraphale’s bare shoulder and arm then kissed his shoulder again. “I want to see you. The real you.”

“But it might hurt you…” Aziraphale protested.

“It might not. I’ll tell you if it does, and you can stop. I want to see. Show me.” He stepped back and sat on the bed. 

Aziraphale drew a steadying breath, and began to let go of his physical corporation constraints in stages. First was the glow. His aura began to glow more and more golden until it shifted into bright white, like staring at the sun. His pearlescent white wings manifested, and then his eyes, surrounding him in ever shifting patterns, never settling still. He shivered, and continued. 

Next the human corporation began to lose focus, as if the truth of the angel was overwhelming it. More wings manifested, along with three more heads - an eagle, a lion, and an ox, alongside his humanoid one. Each still encapsulating Aziraphale’s essence somehow. All of them regarded Crowley intently, then his thousands of eyes began to orbit him in a series of spinning wheels that shouldn’t have made visual sense on any normal plane of reality. They didn’t obey the normal laws of time, space or physics, but they existed nonetheless. 

Crowley was gazing, rapt, jaw hanging loose. It burned, but in a good way, in a way he wanted to drown in forever. Aziraphale’s eyes seeing through every molecule of his being into his very core, leaving him nowhere to hide. 

And suddenly Crowley did feel like he should be the one hiding, the one who should be ashamed of who he was, before this pure and perfect being. 

Because with those eyes, regardless of how Crowley was currently presenting himself to the world, Aziraphale could see every form of Crowley that ever was or ever would be, all at the same time, on all planes of reality at once. He could see the dark writhing snake form and the shattered, sharp jagged fragments of his halo orbiting messily around his blackened aura and the tatters of his other previous wings, hanging shredded and incinerated below his remaining pair. 

Aziraphale studied the demon carefully, trying to glimpse something there, something from before, and then realised what a huge invasion of privacy that was, to have the advantage of being able to see all of Crowley, without him having the option to hide any of it. The angel stopped himself short, averting his many eyes before he could look too closely at what Crowley once was, the broken pieces of his ancient angelic form orbiting in a celestial junk pile on another plane of reality, only linked by the faintest thread of connection to the demon’s soul, but inaccessible to him. Tethered for eternity as a reminder of his damned status, dragging along behind him like a deadweight of what he could never be again. 

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“...Angel…” came the weak reply.

“Are you alright?”

Crowley lifted his head to gaze at the angelic form spinning before him. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Aziraphale,” came the reverently whispered reply. Crowley reached out one tentative hand toward the angel. Aziraphale considered it carefully, before inching forward a single wingtip to just brush the demon’s fingertip. 

A crackle of raw celestial power zapped up Crowley’s arm and a low groan trembled from his lips. He reached forward again, begging for more, and fell from the bed onto his knees in supplication before the angel, both hands out. 

Aziraphale extended another wingtip, and touched one to each outstretched fingertip. Another bright crackle of celestial power surged through the demon and he cried out as if experiencing the most intense orgasm of his existence, then slumped forward, head on his chest, breathing hard. 

“Crowley… are you alright? Speak to me darling,” Aziraphale was growing anxious, he faded his angelic aspects away back out of reality until he stood only as his human corporation before Crowley. 

“Aziraphale, you are the most glorious being in the universe.” Crowley spoke the words with a sincerity which burned. The angel fell to his knees to join the demon on the floor, and swept him into a passionate kiss. 

When they broke off, Crowley gazed deep into those grey-blue eyes. “Now do you believe me, beautiful?”

Aziraphale rested their foreheads together with a little smile. “Perhaps, in time.”

It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dr Who, weeping angels, don’t blink, all that malarkey, had to be done at some point. Morphic resonance, Crowley feels uncomfortable around weeping angels, which is why he will never EVER allow anyone to make Aziraphale cry. He has no idea why. 


	29. #GOC2020 prompt 26: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Armageddon, an angel and a demon are free to affirm their love at last, Aziraphale makes a discovery about Crowley and his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating: teen and up  
> warnings: none

Armageddon had been and gone. Holy water and hellfire had been bested. They were alive. They were free. 

Free to be on their own side, free to live, to love. 

So they did. 

In tender caresses in the darkness, in faltering breaths, nervous kisses, trembling touches and fumbling inexperience. They’d learned each other. They’d held each other close, breathed in the safety of each other’s scent. They’d made gentle love, nuzzled close and fallen asleep, sated and content in each other’s arms. 

Aziraphale woke first, a lance of early morning sunlight speared through a gap in the curtains of Crowley’s flat, a jagged shaft of light that had crept across the floor, up the wall and onto the bed, before finally falling across the angel’s eyes and waking him with a grimace at the brightness. 

He moved his head out of the searing jag of light and got his bearings. The cool grey walls and spartan surroundings of the demon’s bedroom, cool cotton sheets and beautifully soft pillow cradled him in luxurious comfort. 

He rolled over to look at his love, to reassure himself that this wasn’t a dream. Crowley was still asleep, he’d rolled over in the night and had his back to the angel, curled up in the sheet, still save for the slow regular breaths under the covers. 

Azirapahle reached out to stroke the temptingly soft short red hair, and Crowley made a content little sound in his sleep at the touch. Aziraphale’s heart melted slightly more at the noise. 

He laid a gentle hand on the demon’s angular shoulder over the sheet, and slid it down his arm then to his slim waist, marvelling at the beauty of Crowley’s elegant frame shrouded under the fine cotton. Aziraphale wanted to press himself tighter against his love, and slid his hand instead under the cover, to touch that warm skin and slide his hand around Crowley from behind in a tender embrace, so he could shuffle forward and spoon him from behind. 

But he stopped. 

As the sheet had lifted with his arm, he laid his eyes for the first time on Crowley’s back. He could see the shadow of each rib like furrowed earth on an ancient field, each jut of spinal column down his back, two sharply delineated shoulder blades and milky pale skin dusted with freckles. 

… And the scars. 

Aziraphale gazed at the demon’s back. Four scars. Two pairs, two just under his shoulder blades, and another two beneath that, either side of his spine. Jagged, harsh but faded. Mutilated strips of skin like lightning bolts of distant agonies passed. 

Aziraphale recognised what they must be. But he hadn’t expected to see two, let alone four. Tears pricked at his eyes at the sight, at the knowledge of what had caused them, trying to imagine the pain, not just the physical, but the emotional pain it must have caused. How long Crowley must have lived with that pain. 

Did it still hurt him, Aziraphale wondered, when he manifested his wings, his _remaining_ two wings, for the lost four which could no longer appear? 

Crowley had been an angel once. Of course he had. 

It had just never occurred to Aziraphale what _sort_ of angel the demon had been before his fall. Crowley had never said. Aziraphale had never asked. He didn’t know if Crowley remembered, or wanted to remember, or even wanted to talk about it if he did. Something that traumatic had to be hard to discuss. He’d never wanted to hurt Crowley more by opening up old wounds. 

Crowley’s skin broke out in goosebumps as it was exposed to the cool air of the room with the sheet lifted. Aziraphale felt bad and shifted forwards to wrap himself around his love, holding him tight as tears welled in his eyes. He pressed his own soft form against Crowley’s hard angles, hoping that his love would be enough to soothe him, to help him with whatever hurts the last 6,000 years and more had dealt him. 

Seraph or Archangel? 

Did Crowley even remember?

A tear trickled down his cheek and landed on Crowley’s neck. He shifted and stirred, snuggling back against Aziraphale’s body with a content little murmur, and lifted a hand to cover the one wrapped around his chest, squeezing it lightly then stilling once more. 

Aziraphale kissed his neck softly. Whatever Crowley was, he was Aziraphale’s. They were each other’s. Free to love. That was all that mattered. If Crowley wanted to talk about it eventually he could. For now, Aziraphale would love him regardless. It didn’t matter. He was his Crowley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's prompt, "Road Trip" is the longest fic I've written in this challenge, it's over 7k words, soft, loving and rated E. 
> 
> I'm also considering publishing it as a standalone fic later with additional chapters.


	30. #GOC2020 prompt 27: Roadtrip (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After armageddon, Crowley is restless and feels the urge to travel, so he gathers up his angel, gets in the Bentley and they head off to see where the road takes them. As they leave the stresses of the past few years behind them, the finally find the space they need to open up to one another. NSFW, rated E for soft loving at the end. This is the longest chapter in this challenge, I'm afraid it's over 7k words, but lots of soft sweet fluff, some petrolhead Crowley reminiscing, wingtimacy, flying, romance, soft caring Crowley etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> Rating: EXPLICIT  
>  Warnings: SEX  
> **  
> French translations at the end, but (a) you can probably get the gist anyway and (b) some parts are in French precisely so that Aizraphale won't understand, so it also means you won't be spoilered for what Crowley has in mind if you don't understand either. Meaning becomes clear anyway.
> 
> I'm actually considering releasing this one as a standalone fic and adding more chapters later.

Crowley was climbing the walls with frustration. Occasionally literally. Heaven and hell had washed their hands of the pair of them, but they had no idea where they stood now. What were they? Aziraphale hadn’t fallen but he was also clearly persona non grata. Crowley likewise hadn’t un-fallen. Still a demon. Not an aardvark, not a human. Just… Crowley. 

Curiously they both retained their powers. Neither knew why. Aziraphale was wary and endeavoured to stick as closely as he could to his previous guidelines on frivolous miracles and avoid overusing them, or using them for things he thought that upstairs may object to, so as not to provoke any notice. He was cautious just in case it was a genuine oversight and a multitude of minor miracles might be the thing that drew someone’s attention to him and some kind of retribution, or withdrawal of his privileges. 

Crowley was a little more laissez-faire about his, figuring that no one had given a flying fuck before, and was unlikely to start now. But, miracles aside, he was still on edge. Watchful, in case their former sides took it into their heads to take another stab (perhaps literally) at executing them again. 

He paced his flat, on edge and restless like a caged tiger. He slunk to the floor to ceiling windows and gazed down at the street below, where the Bentley sat, gleaming in the sunlight, beckoning him. 

_Just go_ , she said. _Come with me, let’s just drive, keep driving, go somewhere, anywhere, just put your foot down and point me at the road and see where we end up, get away, breathe, escape…_

Crowley pushed himself away from the window, spun on his heel, grabbed the car key and stalked from his flat with a purpose.

* * *

The bell above the bookshop door jangled abruptly, shaking Aziraphale from his reverie as he sipped tea and leafed through a newly acquired ancient tome. He looked up to see an agitated Crowley striding in, all nervous energy and intense focus. He spoke in short, abrupt fragments, as if firing the words out before he lost his nerve. 

“Angel! Going on a road trip. Didn’t want you to worry. Don’t know how long I’ll be, or where I’m going exactly. Need to get away. Not leaving you. You don’t have to come, but um…” He flailed around a little, sweeping his arm in an arc to indicate the bookshop as a whole.

“... You can stay here with your books. Don’t mind. Or… Um… You can come with me if you want. No pressure, either is fine. Didn’t want you to worry. Offer’s there. Um…” He looked around, avoiding the angel’s gaze, quivering with pent up energy and anxious for an answer. 

Aziraphale took in the demon’s agitated demeanour with mild concern, not sure what to say. If he declined the offer then who knew where Crowley might end up, or for how long? He might be gone for a few days to a century for all he knew. It was hard enough worrying over Crowley being over at his flat all alone where Aziraphale couldn’t keep an eye on him to make sure he was alright, but him driving off into the wild blue yonder without a plan while in this overwrought state didn’t bear thinking about. 

“I’m coming.” He stated, firmly. He set his book aside, finished his tea in a few big gulps and stood. “Do I need a bag?”

Crowley shrugged. “Whatever you like, Angel.” He thought for a moment. “Passport.”

“Then give me a moment. Would you mind giving this mug a quick wash while I pack a small valise?” He figured giving the jittery demon something to do would help keep his mind off things for the few minutes he needed. He packed a couple of books as well, then headed back downstairs to where Crowley was pacing about uneasily. 

As soon as he spied Aziraphale, Crowley was heading to the door, eager to get going. The angel followed him silently, locked the door behind him, placed his bag on the back seat and took his place in the passenger seat, glancing sideways at the demon. 

“Is there more to this, Crowley?” He asked, quietly. 

Crowley shrugged and fired up the engine, put it in first and pulled away sharply, changing quickly up through the gears with his characteristic rapid double stomp as he double declutched on each gear change until they were barrelling along through the streets of London. They were heading more or less Southeast, ending up on the M20, and pulled off at the Eurotunnel exit. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but nothing more. He was secretly slightly excited at the prospect of a mystery tour.

* * *

When their letter was called for boarding, the Bentley was loaded into the double height section of the train rather than the double car deck carriages due to its size. Crowley stepped out to stretch his legs ambling around the car as they crossed, ears popping at the depth as the train plunged deep under the channel. He snapped his fingers to adjust the headlights to left hand configuration. Aziraphale left the car to stand and stretch as well, observing the demon carefully. 

“So do you have a plan once we get to the other side?”

Crowley shrugged. “Just drive. See where the road takes us. What d’you think, North or South? We could go up through Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, over to Sweden then up to Norway. Or maybe South through France, Switzerland and Italy, or across Austria, Hungary, Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey.” He paused. “We needn’t stop there. Russia - nice big place.” He considered for a moment. “Shitty roads in some areas though.” He caressed the Bentley affectionately.

Aziraphale smiled at the easy affection the demon shared with his vehicle. He wished that Crowley would feel that at ease sharing an easy touch with himself. A touch on the arm maybe, holding hands perhaps? Maybe that would come with time.

“Italy.” Aziraphale pronounced. “Let’s do Italy.”

The PA system announced that they would soon be arriving in Calais and to prepare to disembark, so they climbed back in the Bentley and a short while later, followed the vehicles ahead of them off the train again, and out onto the French autoroutes. 

Crowley headed off North of Paris around to Reims. He departed the motorway after a while to take a little side trip, Aziraphale wondered about the diversion but decided to wait and see rather than questioning it. Presently they slowed and pulled to the side of the main road where it was bordered on either side by curious brightly painted structures. The angel gazed at them curiously, they appeared to be extremely old concrete viewing stands. 

He glanced across at where Crowley was sitting, resting both arms on the steering wheel, looking out at the structures with a fond expression on his face and a slight smile. He stroked the dashboard thoughtfully. 

“Remember, girl?” he murmured quietly, just on the edge of hearing. 

“Where are we, Crowley?”

The demon snapped out of his reverie as if only just remembering that the angel was there. 

“Oh. Circuit Reims-Gueux, or what’s left of it. This used to be a race track, many years ago - on the public roads. Not any more of course. The buildings are historic and preserved, they kept the painted period advertising on them exactly as it used to be. It was built in the 1920s. I brought her here, the Bentley, a little bit after I bought her. We did a few races here, me and her.”

He patted the steering wheel affectionately then sat back, opened the door and stepped out. Aziraphale followed suit. Crowley stretched langrously. “Hasn’t changed much really. Road surface is better though.” He went for a stroll, inspecting the old pit lane buildings then climbed through a glassless window and up the observation tower. He looked around for a while from the top of the building as Aziraphale remained on the ground. Crowley leaned on an empty windowsill and took in the view, gazing down at the Bentley gleaming at the side of the road next to the pits, and treated her to a gentle smile. 

After reminiscing for a while, he ambled back down again and hopped over a low wall to rejoin the angel. “Shame it closed down really. Good memories here.”

“Wasn’t it a little unfair, you racing humans, Crowley?”

Crowley looked confused. “Unfair? Why would it be unfair?”

“Because you can make your car go so much faster than they could.”

“Eh, I didn’t bother back then. I’d only just bought her, her top speed was already faster than I’d ever been anyway, she was already as fast as the other cars, faster than a few, I won fair and square. It was only when other cars modernised and got faster I made sure she could keep up.”

He took one last look around the place, sniffed, then got back in the car again. “Get in, Angel.” Aziraphale joined him and they sped off. For old time’s sake he did a little lap of the old course, flooring it down the straight, confident that no gendarmes would notice him if he didn’t want them to, then carried on Southeast, toward the Swiss border and Basel.

* * *

In Basel, Crowley deigned to stop so that he could buy lunch for Aziraphale. With an unerring skill for such things, he appeared to sniff out the best restaurant in the area which miraculously had a table for two free, and watched as the angel enjoyed the delights of the menu. Crowley sipped black coffee, and scrolled on his phone a little after the angel had finished eating. He smiled to himself and tapped a few buttons with increasing satisfaction before sitting back with a wide grin, looking very pleased with himself. 

“Find something interesting, Crowley?”

“Hmm?” Crowley smirked and winked. “Just a little something for later, Angel. ‘S a surprise.”

After the late lunch they carried on to Zürich where Crowley pulled up outside a grand hotel which proclaimed itself to be “La Réserve Eden au Lac”. Azirapahle trailed along as Crowley sauntered into reception and treated the check in clerk to a charming smile. “Bonsoir madame, j'ai une réservation pour ce soir au nom de Crowley.” *

“Ah, monsieur Crowley, oui, vous êtes Anglais, n'est-ce pas? Nous avons la suite Eden prête pour vous. Préférez-vous que nous vous parlions en Français ou en Anglais, monsieur?”

“Uh, English is fine, merci, madame.”

“Of course, Sir, here is your key, Marie will show you to your room. Would you like breakfast served on your balcony or in your room in the morning?” 

“Balcony if the weather is nice, thanks. In the room if it isn’t. Is the, uh… um…” he glanced quickly to Aziraphale and switched back to French again. “la suite attenante est-elle également réservée au cas où nous en aurions besoin?”

“Oui monsieur, veuillez appeler la réception pour confirmer si vous en avez toujours besoin ou non.”

Crowley smiled and nodded. “C’mon, Angel. You’ll like this.”

They ascended to the third floor and were shown to a sumptuous suite labelled “The Eden Suite”, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading out to a spacious balcony overlooking the lake. Marie placed Aziraphale’s bag on a luggage stand and passed Crowley a couple of room keys. He tipped her a few Swiss Francs with a smile and she withdrew quietly. 

Aziraphale wandered around the rooms, quite apart from the serendipitous name of the hotel and the suite, the place was beautiful. “Crowley, did you plan this?”

The demon grinned and popped open the bottle of champagne that had been left in an ice bucket for them, pouring two flutes he passed one to Aziraphale and sipped at the other himself. “Nope, not until lunchtime anyway. Pure accident. I was searching for a nice place to stay tonight and this one came up on the search results, 5 star in Zurich, lake view, when I saw the name I couldn’t not do it. Especially when the top suite was named this either. Call it serendipity. Call it fate, whatever you like.”

He inclined his head to indicate that Aziraphale should follow him to a door, and used one of the keys to unlock it, revealing another suite beyond. “I reserved both of them, in case you’d prefer your own space.” He placed the key into Aziraphale’s hand and took another sip of his champagne. 

Aziraphale noted the barely-there tremor in the hand clutching the champagne flute, and the tightness of Crowley’s jaw muscles. He made a decision. He pulled the door closed, locked it, and placed the key back into the demon’s hand. 

“I think just the one will be fine for the both of us, it seems somewhat decadent to take up two suites.”

Crowley let go of an anxious breath in a half laugh. “Decadent is kind of the idea, Angel.” He set the spare key aside on the table regardless, in case Aziraphale should wish to change his mind later, and ambled out onto the balcony to take in the view. Aziraphale followed him and they leaned on the railing next to each other to sip their champagne. 

Crowley noticed that Aziraphale had decided to stand next to him as they leant on the railing, their arms were touching. He breathed deep of the fresh air, and allowed himself to lean ever so slightly against the angel with a sigh. Whatever tensions he’d been feeling in London were beginning to dissipate with the feeling of escape. 

When their glasses were emptied, Azirpahale retreated to the room to retrieve the bottle to refill them. He topped off Crowley’s flute then drew up a chair on the balcony to sit and watch as the lights began to twinkle and illuminate the city skyline. “Another glass then down to dinner, I suppose?”

“Up to dinner, top floor restaurant, but yup. Sounds good, Angel.”

* * *

Aziraphale tucked into his Gyuniku steak while Crowley tried the Creamy spicy salmon tartare with fried rice, then watched rapt as Aziraphale delicately devoured a selection of Daifuku mochi from the dessert menu. They retired to their suite again to watch the stars twinkling in the clear sky over the mountains from the open patio doors to their balcony. 

Crowley felt the cold a little so wrapped himself in a blanket and sat on the edge of the bed as he gazed out over the lake. Aziraphale seated himself next to the bundled demon and stared out at the night sky with him. He sighed then let himself relax against Crowley, resting his head on his shoulder. Crowley tried to steady his hammering heart. 

“So what brought this on?” Azirpahale asked gently, after a while. Crowley shrugged. 

“Needed to get away. Never felt like this before. No orders, nothing to do, don’t know _what_ to do.”

“And asking me to come along?”

“Didn’t want you worrying if I just disappeared without telling you. Seemed rude not to give you the option of tagging along.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d worry about your whereabouts.”

Crowley turned his head to look at him frankly. “Angel, when I fell asleep for a century do you have any _idea_ how many letters from you were cluttering up my hallway when I woke up?”

Aziraphale winced. “...Possibly.”

“There you go then.”

“Did… did you read them all?”

Crowley shrugged again. “‘Course.”

Aziraphale shifted slightly, but didn’t stop leaning against the demon. “To be honest, I don’t rightly recall what I said in all of them. But I believe I was rather … forthright, at least at first, then possibly a little, um…”

“...Apologetic?” Crowley mused, “...tender?” He paused for a moment. “Of course I read the ones at the top of the pile first, that was nice to wake up to. The first ones were at the bottom of the pile and got read last, it was a bit surreal to see you go from all lovey dovey to angry in reverse.”  
  
 _“Lovey dovey?”_ Aziraphale was aghast and sat back slightly, mortified. 

“Only if you read between the lines, Angel. I know you well enough. I know how you say things to hide what you mean, and what you don’t.”

Aziraphale was blushing now. “I didn’t realise it was that obvious,” he mumbled, staring at his hands in his lap. Crowley chuckled.

“Not to anyone who hasn’t known you for thousands of years, Angel. You’re a master of prose, and you’re bloody good at dancing circles around what you mean to say without ever hitting it directly. The very nature of what you do say frames what you didn’t, and what you intended to, without ever needing to put voice to it.”

He looked sideways at Aziraphale, then reached out to brush at his blonde hair tenderly. “I’m not an idiot, Aziraphale. I could hear you. And I think you could hear me too. We just pretended not to.” He took a breath, and waited for the angel’s eyes to rise to meet his own. “Am I right?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes.” 

Crowley smiled at him, not ignorant of the fact that Aziraphale’s eyes had dropped to gaze at his lips… again. They did that more often than the angel probably ever realised. Crowley never missed it. He licked his lips and breathed slowly. He waited for Azirapahle to think it through. 

The angel’s eyes rose to meet his once more. “So we did, truly, want the same thing all along?”

“Seems so. Nothing to stop you taking it, Angel,” he murmured softly. He let the blanket fall from his shoulders and reached out one hand to take Aziraphale’s, holding it as gently as if it were an injured fledgling. Aziraphale looked down to stare at his hand in the demon’s. 

“Crowley…?”

“Mmm?”

“Would it be terribly forward of me to ask if I might kiss you?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Angel.”

Aziraphale licked his lips nervously and, hesitatingly, moved his head forward, bumped Crowley’s nose with his own, made an awkward little noise, tried again, and their lips met. 

It was fumbling, apprehensive, clumsy and unrefined, but everything that Crowley had ever wanted. He returned the kiss gently, letting the angel lead so as not to scare him at first, and waited patiently as Aziraphale lifted off, flustered, eyes darting around shyly. Crowley smiled at him. He lifted a soothing hand to the angel’s cheek. 

“That was beautiful, Angel,” he whispered, and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. Their eyes met, Crowley’s playful. “Again?” Aziraphale nodded breathlessly. 

Crowley led this time, lips fluttering gently over the angel’s, then pressing more firmly, and he pressed forward with his tongue, seeking permission which Azirpahale gave, parting his lips to accept the caress of the demon’s tongue on his own. Aziraphale felt as if his entire body was on fire, he whimpered and pressed closer, he brought his hands up to embrace Crowley as he’d always wanted to, and Crowley held him back. 

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how they ended up there, but at some point they’d gone from sitting on the edge of the bed side by side, to lying on it, Crowley atop Aziraphale, wrapped in each other’s arms, still kissing. The demon’s hands shifted to caress every part of the angel in reach, skimming over the curves of his body tenderly. He lifted off for a moment, and met Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“Is this ok, Angel? ‘S not too much is it? Or too fast?”

Aziraphale shook his head hurriedly. “Not at all, Crowley, I’m sorry I pushed you away before, I’m all yours now.”

“What d’you want, Aziraphale?”

“I… I want to hold you. And kiss you some more… I…,” he petered off, unsure. Crowley read the hesitation in his eyes. “Then hold me, Angel.” He wasn’t going to push, he wanted Aziraphale to lead when he was ready. Uncertainty was not permission. He’d come too far now to ruin it.

They snuggled, and talked, and eventually slept, wrapped in each other’s arms.

* * *

There was a polite knock at the door and a gentleman from room service entered at Aziraphale’s answer, rolling a trolley laden with a selection of breakfast items, fine teas and fresh brewed coffee. He wheeled it out to the balcony and began laying it all out for them. Aziraphale fished Crowley’s wallet from his jeans discarded over a chair and tipped the waiter a few francs as he had none himself, then he withdrew with a little bow and a smile. The angel went to wake the demon with a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Crowley? Breakfast is here, love. There’s some hot coffee for you. Come join me.”

Crowley blinked and stretched. He looked at Aziraphale dressed in a complimentary hotel dressing gown in mild surprise and tried to remember where he was and what they were doing. He did, with a warm smile at his angel, and slid out of bed, dressed only in his black silk boxer briefs. 

He took a seat on the balcony in the morning sunshine and sipped at the black coffee Aziraphale had poured for him, then rested an easy hand on the angel’s thigh as he sat down next to him and tucked into a croissant. 

“This really is delightful, Crowley. What shall we do today?”

“Well we should look round a bit before we drive on, really. Shall we have a stroll through town this morning before we head off?”

“That sounds like a marvellous idea, darling.”

After breakfast, as they left the hotel, Crowley was pleasantly surprised when Aziraphale took his arm, and tried to keep his face from breaking into a lovesick grin. They strolled through town, eventually winding up outside Bahnhofstrasse 31, when Crowley recognised something and halted, surveying the windows of the shop carefully, a thought brewing. 

“Let’s hop in here, Angel.”

Azirpahale glanced up at the name “Beyer Chronometrie?” he read. “A watch shop?” 

“Not just a watch shop, Angel, I’ve read about this place, it’s also the Beyer Clock and Watch Museum, they’ve got over 300 exhibits dating from 1400 BC to present day. Should be a blast from the past, bring back some memories.” With a grin, he led Azirahpale in. 

They spent a while browsing the museum, from sundials, hourglasses and water clocks through to fob watches, and even automata. Crowley paid special attention to any exhibits that Aziraphale seemed especially enamoured by, and then took him back upstairs and browsed the modern timepieces up there. 

He pointed out a Patek Philippe [5227R Calatrava](https://www.patek.com/en/collection/calatrava/5227R-001) with a self winding movement, sweeping second hand and discreet date aperture in rose gold with a smart dark chestnut alligator leather strap, and asked to take a better look.

An assistant, glancing at Crowley’s hugely expensive Devon timepiece on his wrist, didn’t hesitate to remove the Calatrava from its case and hand it over for closer inspection. Crowley looked it over then passed it to Aziraphale. “What d’you think, Angel?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. “Um. It’s delightful, Crowley. Very classic, timeless, if you’ll excuse the pun. Not particularly _you_ though, I’d have thought you’d prefer the silver or platinum with black strap, or something more ostentatious.” 

Crowley grinned. “That’s because it’s not for me, Angel. It’s for you. As you said, timeless, classic, goes with your outfit.”

The angel gaped in shock. “Crowley! It’s nearly twenty-seven _thousand_ pounds!”

The demon shrugged. “Don’t care. It’s only money, Aziraphale. You’re worth more than any watch. D’you like it?”

“Whether I like it or not is beside the point, Crowley.”

“Not if I’m going to buy it for you anyway. D’you like it?”

Aziraphale nodded mutely, and watched in stunned silence as Crowley handed the watch back to the salesperson and asked for a pen and paper. He wrote something on it and handed it over along with his black credit card. “Je vais le prendre, combien de temps ça va être?”

“Une demi-heure, monsieur, pour la personnalisation.”

“Merci, nous irons prendre un café puis reviendrons.”

The assistant nodded, processed the payment, handed his card back, then took the watch away to a back room. “Let’s go get a coffee, Angel.” 

Coffee became a light lunch, with Crowley not only watching his angel with his usual rapt attention as he ate, but also glorifying in having the freedom to rest his hand on Aziraphale’s soft thigh, and to stroke and squeeze it gently under the long tablecloth. 

They returned to Beyer Chronometrie where the sales assistant welcomed them with a smile and presented the watch to Crowley, who inspected it carefully and then handed it to Aziraphale, along with the accompanying pair of rose gold cufflinks in the Philippe logo which just so happened to be an elaborate cross. 

Aziraphale turned the watch over, knowing that Crowley must have asked them to inscribe something on the back of it, for them to have had to wait to collect it. He suspected he might know what it might say, and was right in his guess. 

Engraved on the reverse were the words “On our own side.” He smiled fondly, and spontaneously kissed Crowley, their first in public, not caring that the sales assistant could see. (She politely studied a display cabinet behind her.) 

Crowley gently lifted the watch from Aziraphale’s fingers, and buckled it onto his wrist. He hesitated. Aziraphale looked at his small gold harp cufflinks, a reminder of the heaven who had rejected him. He removed them himself and placed them in his pocket. He held his arm out to invite Crowley to fit the new cufflinks as well, which he did with a fond smile, followed by another tender kiss. 

Thanking the sales assistant, they left, heading back to the hotel arm in arm, fetched the Bentley and set off once more. They drove along the entire Southern side of the lake for some time, heading for the Umbrailpass over the mountains, and then to the stunningly beautiful Stelvio pass across the border into Italy.

* * *

The pass was a series of switchbacks, tight hairpin bends zigzagging down the mountain, and Crowley delighted in flinging the Bentely around them as Aziraphale gripped the door with one hand, and Crowley’s thigh with the other. He relaxed slightly as they left the pass behind and they reached Bolzano. This time Crowley selected the Romantik Hotel Turm. 

They were shown to the highest room in the hotel, the Tower Suite, from where they had a 360 degree view of the surrounding countryside. Again, Crowley enjoyed watching his angel dine in the Michelin starred restaurant.

They took a stroll around the ancient building and gardens after dinner as the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. The hotel had a bird theme echoing throughout, with most of the rooms and suites named after birds, and statues of the family's past pet birds in the grounds. 

Aziraphale paused to run his hand over the glossy black sculpture of a raven on the lawn, fingers lingering on its dark feathers, before turning to Crowley, something lighting up his eyes. “It’s dark, Crowley. Everyone has gone to bed, we have the place to ourselves.”

Crowley raised a questioning eyebrow, wondering what Aziraphale was thinking. Their hands were intertwined, one of Aziraphale’s stroking the raven’s wing, the other in Crowley’s hand. He disengaged his hand from the demon’s and slid it up his arm and around his shoulder, bringing it to rest between his shoulder blades with a question in his eyes. 

Crowley shivered at the touch, and looked around quickly. The angel was right, no one could see them. A quick miracle ensured that no one would either. He drew Aziraphale into his arms for a kiss, then allowed his wings to unfurl behind him. The angel’s hands around his slim chest quested out along the bones of each wing, stroking the silken feathers in silent wonder. Crowley moaned gently into the kiss at the angelic touch. 

With a sigh, Aziraphale manifested his own wings and Crowley broke the kiss to gaze at them, pale in the darkness, then mirrored the angel’s caress with his own, marvelling at their softness. “Angel…,” he whispered in awe. Aziraphale took a step backwards, and took Crowley’s hand in his. 

“Fly with me?”

Crowley’s features split into a beautiful smile, he flexed his wings, braced his legs, and launched upward with a leap. He hadn’t done this in years, and it felt good. Aziraphale powered up just behind him then drew level. He was willing to bet that the angel hadn’t either. 

They soared away from the lights of the sleeping town and up toward the mountains, glorying in the crystal clear air and silence. The feel of the wind in his wings drew Crowley higher with euphoria, and he danced circles around his angel, twisting into barrel rolls and aerobatic tricks he hadn’t tried in hundreds of years. 

He made sure to stay close to Aziraphale, knowing he was almost impossible to discern against the dark night sky, the angel’s bright plumage and his own subtle ethereal glow visible only to Crowley meant he stood out like a beacon. He tried to entice Aziraphale into a few aerobatic stunts with him, teaching him some of his own tricks and laughing along with the angel as he mastered them. 

They alighted after a while on an upland meadow where sheep dozed in the grass like so many earthbound clouds. Aziraphale, exhilarated from their airborne excursion, laughed in pure unalloyed delight then rolled Crowley over onto the soft turf and kissed him passionately. 

Crowley was taken aback by Aziraphale’s unbounded enthusiasm but embraced it eagerly, laughing and rolling on the grass together, worries forgotten. As they rolled over again, giggling, Crowley’s sharp night vision caught the glint of something tumbling to the grass and he paused to snatch it up. It was one of Aziraphale’s old angelic cufflinks which had fallen from his pocket. He handed it back. 

“You’ll want to keep this safe.”

Aziraphale gazed at it in his palm thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t want to wear these again, Crowley. Too many bad memories. I’ve a mind to melt them down.” 

“Into what?”

Aziraphale thought a little longer, then gave a little shrug and tucked them back into his pocket silently. “I’ll come up with something. Shall we go back love?” Crowley nodded, helped the angel to his feet and they launched off again, landing on the lawn of the hotel a short while later, tucking their wings away, and heading back up to their eyrie. 

Aziraphale took a shower first, then picked one of his books to read while Crowley took a turn. He returned to the bedroom ruffling his short red hair with a towel to see Aziraphale already in bed reading. The angel looked up with a slightly apprehensive look on his face as the demon stepped across the room. 

“Everything ok, Aziraphale? He reached for his silk boxer briefs to slide them on under the towel around his waist. The angel interrupted him hastily as he bent and lifted one foot. 

“Don’t.”

Crowley raised his head curiously. “Don’t what, Angel?”

Aziraphale looked nervous. “Um, the... you… you don’t, I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to, um, put them on? If you don’t want to?”

Crowley put his foot carefully back on the floor again and straightened. “You mean my underwear?”

Aziraphale nodded stiffly. Crowley took a steadying breath and nodded slowly in return. 

“Ok…”

He made his way over to the bed, and as casually as he could manage, let the towel drop and slid under the covers next to his angel. Aziraphale placed his bookmark in his book and set it aside carefully before rolling onto his side to face the demon with an anxious smile. Crowley reached out to stroke his feather soft hair and smiled back, then closed his eyes contentedly as Aziraphale mirrored his touch, stroking the demon’s damp red hair, then gently pulling his head closer and into a slow kiss. 

Crowley’s heart was hammering. Sex certainly wasn’t anything new to him, but he wanted to take extra special care of his angel and make sure it was perfect for him. He allowed Aziraphale to lead, and felt soft hands skimming the hard angles of his own body, tentatively exploring, squeezing, stroking and sending shivers up his spine. Crowley mirrored each movement, allowing Aziraphale’s hands to guide his own on the angel’s body, and was mildly surprised to run his fingers down Aziraphale’s soft hip and find that the angel wasn’t wearing anything either. 

His heart stuttered at that point and he drew in a sharp breath. Aziraphale smiled against his lips and wriggled closer, so their bodies were finally pressed together, and he felt the press of the angel’s hardness against his own, the contact sending a sharp jolt of lust through his corporation, his own cock twitching in response, and he moaned gently into the next kiss. 

“Oh, Angel…,” he whispered. “What would you like, love? Tell me, I’m yours, Aziraphale, every part of me is yours.” He kissed the angel’s neck and shoulder, then flinched in surprise as Aziraphale’s hand tentatively encircled his cock between them. 

“This, Crowley. Show me, please.”

“How would you like it, Angel?” he murmured into Aziraphale’s soft skin, before landing another kiss there on his shoulder. 

“Would you, um. Oh Crowley. I’m not good with words.” He muttered in exasperation at himself. 

“Nonsense, Aziraphale. On the contrary, I find you rather effusive with words.”

“Not these ones, Crowley. I can’t… just let go of all those centuries of heavenly conditioning overnight, you know that.”

“You will, in time.” Crowley kissed him some more and returned the angel’s caress on his velvety warm shaft in turn. They stroked each other a little more before he spoke again. “I can just do this for you if you want. Or I can use my mouth on you Angel. You can top me if you want to, or I can top you if you want that, any of it, none of it. We can stop now if that’s what you want too. I’ll hold you all night and never let my hand stray below the waist again if that’s what you want. Just tell me, love.”

“Is it, um, painful?”

“Oh Angel, no. Not if you do it right love. If there’s anything you don’t like just tell me, I’ll do the same. Just say ‘red’, everything stops, ok? I’d never hurt you Aziraphale, you know that, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded. “You, um, mentioned your mouth?”

Crowley nodded. “I can do that for you love, I’ve wanted to have the chance to do that for you for… well, forever really.” He gave his lover a long, lingering kiss, and then proceeded to kiss his way down his literally heavenly body. He festooned Aziraphale’s chest in a flurry of kisses, then worked his way lower. He chuckled when the angel flinched and giggled as he kissed the ticklish point next to his hip bone, and again when Aziraphale gasped at the demon’s hot breath ghosting over the head of his cock. 

Crowley did no more than breathe over it at first, and carried on down, drawing things out slowly, to kiss, lick and nibble at the angel’s gloriously soft thighs, stroking and squeezing them in awe. “Angel, do you have any _idea_ how beautiful you are?” He looked up to see Aziraphale had laid a forearm across his eyes in shyness at the praise. 

“Aziraphale, look at me, love,” he said, seriously. He waited, just drawing slow patterns on his thigh with a finger, until the angel met his gaze. “You _are_ beautiful, Aziraphale. I could spend eternity just kissing every inch of your body and be content with nothing more. You’re the most beautiful being on this planet or off it, and I love you. All of you.” He kissed Aziraphale’s thigh reverently, and then began to work his way upward again as the angel whimpered at the touch. 

“Still ok, love?” Crowley murmured as he licked across the top of his thigh, and glanced upward again. Azirpahale nodded emphatically, but when Crowley remained still, he followed it up with a whispered affirmation. 

Crowley began to kiss and lick at his straining shaft, keeping an eye on Aziraphale’s expression as he did, before gently swiping around the head with his tongue, then encircling it with his lips and drawing it all down into his warm, wet mouth. Azirpahale shuddered and groaned, finally fisting his hands in Crowley’s hair. When the demon stopped, Aziraphale reassured him with just enough pressure on his head to encourage him to continue. 

The demon tried to go slowly, he knew he could do this well, too well sometimes, and he didn’t want his angel to just explode immediately, so he edged him a little, going softly, and backing off when the whimpering turned into an excited keening sound and tightly gripping fingers in his hair, or when the angel’s muscles began to tense up too much. He kept his tongue moving, avoiding the head too much and the tightly packed bundle of nerves there in favour of paying attention to his shaft and bollocks more, until he thought Aziraphale had been strung out enough and needed the release. 

He then switched tactics and applied himself more vigorously, firmer, tighter, faster, with devilish flicks and swirls of his tongue over the tip. This time when the angel’s muscles began to quiver and his noises again became an unintelligible string of sibilants not unlike Crowley’s own on occasion, he went with the flow. He laid his own hand over Aziraphale’s on the back of his head and pushed it down firmly, indicating that he wanted to take it all. The angel understood and let himself go, releasing in shuddering moans down Crowley’s throat, his lover’s name on his lips.

As Aziraphale’s hand fell away from his hair, Crowley slowly licked his way up again, swallowing, and lifted off with a final lick that made his lover’s cock twitch at the sensitive touch. He laid a soft kiss to his angel’s hip, then shuffled up the bed to snuggle up against him, head on that broad chest. “That ok, Angel?”

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair some more, mindblown. “Crowley, that was… indescribable my darling. I had no idea. You’re amazing, love.” Crowley grinned and glanced up at his angel’s face. 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Angel,” he commented with a wink and a suggestive lick of his lip.

“What should I do for you, Crowley?” Azirphale sounded worried. The demon shook his head. 

“There’s no ‘should’ here, Aziraphale. You don’t have to do anything, I can do that for you, it’s not a game of tit-for-tat, no one’s keeping score. Just because I make you feel good doesn’t mean you automatically have to get me off unless you want to.”

“But I want to.”

“Well then, that’s different,” Crowley grinned with a languid stretch, his body sinuously sinful in its movement, his erection jutting out with a tantalising sway over his hollow abdomen. Aziraphale’s eyes fixated on its length immediately, and he reached out to take it in his hand again. Crowley laid back and watched as the angel stroked him slowly, relaxing into the light touch. 

“Is this right, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, unsure. Crowley reached out to stroke his blonde locks lovingly. 

“Yes, Angel.”

“Should I, er… lick?”

“There’s no ‘should’, Aziraphale, remember?” Crowley’s voice was tender. “Do what feels right, and only if you want to, love.” He thought for a moment. “And for somebody’s sake don’t go trying to fit it all in your mouth in one go either. You haven’t got a snake jaw.” He gave a small chuckle.

Aziraphale was slightly relieved at the advice as he had been contemplating the demon’s length with a little apprehension. He began as Crowley had, kissing and licking tentatively a first, before relaxing into the task and savouring every inch with his tongue, finally able to let his fantasies have free rein, and worshipping his lover with his mouth. 

Crowley drew a long shuddering breath and tried not to writhe at the beautiful sensations. What the angel lacked in experience he more than made up for in enthusiasm and the innate understanding of a true hedonist seeking to explore something as thoroughly as possible to extract maximum enjoyment out of it. 

As Aziraphale went to work with increased determination, lavishing attention on Crowley’s cock, the demon began to twitch and jolt with each pleasurable lick over the sensitive tip, then felt the angel decide to see exactly how much of his length it was possible to fit in his mouth. He made it a good halfway down, then Crowley reached down and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, then placed it at the bottom of his shaft to guide him. Taking the hint, the angel began to work his hand at the base of Crowley’s cock whilst his mouth and tongue tended to the rest.

“Az… Azira...phale…,” Crowley was beginning to gasp, losing his grip on himself rapidly. “An...gel… christ… _fuck_ , Aziraphale… _fuck_ ...I.. I’m, I’m… fuck, _Angel_. I’m going to …. come, Azirapha…..” His hips bucked up and he bit his lip hard, crying out in a wail as he came, fists tight at his sides as he arched off the bed. The angel endeavoured to suck even lower, eager to take as much as he could, and to wring every last drop out of his lover. 

Crowley had to gently lift Aziraphale’s head off as he became a little too over-sensitive, and drew him up into a messy kiss. When they broke off, Aziraphale looked a little disconcerted. “Everything ok, Angel?” 

“Yes, it just… didn’t taste as unpleasant as I’d been led to expect it might.”

Crowley chuckled and blushed a little. “I might have, um… miracled it to be a little nicer than the average human’s. Didn’t want to put you off when you seemed to be enjoying things so much.”

“Oh, was mine not…?”

Crowley hugged him close. “‘S fine, Angel, shhh, every bit of you is delicious, love.”

They snuggled a bit more, stroking each other’s bodies idly and exchanging soft kisses. After a while, Aziraphale spoke up again. “Crowley, did you want to, um, make love to me... properly?” Crowley shrugged and squeezed him a bit harder briefly. 

“‘Course I do, if you want me to, but not right now, Angel. It can wait. Want to take my time with you, you’re an angel to be savoured y’know.” He kissed Aziraphale’s hair softly. “And we should probably get a bit of sleep, it’s not far off dawn, love. Got more driving tomorrow, got Venice to look forward to.” He kissed his angel again.

“We can sample the grappa, lounge by the canals, find another nice hotel where I can pamper you, then spend the night spoiling you properly, take it slow, relaxing…,” he kissed Aziraphale again on the lips, slow and languid as what he was proposing. “Show you what else this tongue can do in other areas, and these wicked hands of mine…,” he drew a meandering trail down his angel’s back to the crease of his backside then lifted off again. “Then make slow sweet love to you, if you like?”

Aziraphale smiled warmly and kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose playfully. “I like.” he grinned. “And after Venice? Florence? Rome? Naples?”

“And Sorrento, Capri, down to Sicily, another ferry up to Sardinia, another to Corsica, then another across to Pisa, around the coast to Genoa, carry on along to Monaco and Cannes. We could head back into France for Toulouse, down into Spain for Barcelona, Valencia, inland to Madrid…” Crowley’s voice began to drift off and he yawned. 

“We’ll see where the road takes us, Angel. Gonna sleep now. Love you, Aziraphale…” 

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him again. “I love you too, Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The French - (with apologies for my bad English schoolgirl french that I checked using google translate, which isn't the best. I did also ask a French Good Omens fan friend to double check and they reassured me that it was understandable, if a bit formal, but they're in a posh Swiss hotel, so they might *be* formal.)
> 
> Anyway - Crowley introduces himself and says good evening madam, I have a reservation for tonight in the name of Crowley. She replies "Ah, Mr. Corwley, you are English, yes? We have the Eden suite for you, would you prefer us to speak to you in French or English?"
> 
> Crowley switches back to French because he doesn't want Aziraphale to understand the next bit. (Remembering that in the Bastille, the angel's French was a bit rusty, and it hasn't improved since then.) He asks if the adjoining suite is also reserved in case they want it, and she replies that it is, and to call reception if they decide that they don't want it.
> 
> The discussion in the watch shop is just Crowley asking how long it'll be before the watch is ready, and being told half an hour for the personalisation he's requested, so he says they'll go and get a coffee while they wait.
> 
> The watch Crowley bought Aziraphale: [Patek Philippe watch: https://www.patek.com/en/collection/calatrava/5227R-001](https://www.patek.com/en/collection/calatrava/5227R-001)


	31. #GOC2020 prompt 28: Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so for the prompt “culture” ALL I could think about was yoghurt. Not classical opera, not fine arts or theatre, bloody yoghurt. So I went with it, you’re welcome. Have a smug bastard angel taunting his demon. Comedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: hmm... Borderline teen & up/Mature? Call it mature, but not explicit. No naughty bits mentioned.  
> Warnings: nekkid demon and suggestive innuendo.

Crowley poked the series of pans sitting on the kitchen countertop cautiously. Now that the angel appeared to be easing off on his manic baking spree, the kitchen, nonetheless, was still a hive of activity. 

“What’s all this, Angel?” He queried as Azirpahale set about picking stems off a bowl of strawberries, pinching them off with a pair of sugar tongs for efficiency. He didn’t look up from his work. 

“Yoghurt. I decided to try making my own, dear.”

“Yoghurt.” The demon replied, flatly. “I can just buy you as much yoghurt as you want, you realise. Any flavour you like, way faster.”

“It’s not as  _ fun _ .” Aziraphale insisted. 

_ “Fun?”  _ Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel, if you lined up everyone, in the  _ whole  _ world, and asked them to describe yoghurt, nobody…  _ at all _ … would call it ‘fun’.”*

Aziraphale turned to look at him, quirked an eyebrow and smiled slowly. “Well not with that attitude, dearest. Perhaps they’re just doing it wrong…” He popped the strawberry in his fingers into his mouth and ate it, agonisingly slowly, at Crowley. 

There was a distinct difference to be noted between Aziraphale simply eating  _ near  _ Crowley, versus him eating  _ at  _ Crowley. 

Eating with, or near Crowley, was just eating. Anyone could do it. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had mastered the fine art of eating  _ at  _ Crowley, and it involved so much more than mere consumption of nutrients. 

He had discovered long, long ago, the effect he could have on the demon simply by enjoying his food with sufficient pointed enthusiasm, and was far from ignorant of the effect it could have on him. He made a point of playing it up to the max when he was feeling particularly devilish. He found the demon to be far more amenable to suggestion in such a state, and wasn’t above using it to his advantage when required. He was, after all,  _ Just  _ Enough Of A Bastard To Be Worth Knowing. 

“Oh no. No. You don’t get to do that. Stoppit. Halt. Cease. Desist. That’s not on, Angel, you  _ know  _ it, c’mon, enough.” Crowley had his hands up, shaking his head as he watched Aziraphale reach slowly to pick up another strawberry. He raised an eyebrow, Bastard Mode shining through, and lifted the strawberry until it just touched his lips, then paused. 

Crowley broke out in a sweat. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, unable to tear his gaze away. 

“Oh dear me, I almost forgot…” Azirpahale reached into the fridge where an earlier batch of yoghurt had been chilling. He placed it on the countertop, lifted the lid, and dipped the strawberry into it. He made direct eye contact with Crowley again. Crowley squirmed.

“You utter, utter bastard…” Crowley growled, and kept watching, licking his own lips nervously. 

Azirapahle smirked and brought the white creamy dipped strawberry back up to his lips, then darted out his pink tongue to lick a dab of yoghurt off it, moaning decadently and closing his eyes. 

Crowley groaned. 

The angel opened his eyes and gazed at the strawberry, then opened his mouth again and bit into it with relish, emitting another low moan as he chewed. 

Crowley couldn’t handle it any longer. He took two strides across the kitchen floor, seized the other half of the strawberry in the angel’s fingers in his own mouth and ate it, yanked Aziraphale into a crushing embrace and kissed him passionately, tongue desperate and mouth hungry for the taste of his angel, drawing more moans from the pair of them. 

Next thing he knew, Aziraphale had hoisted him bodily up onto an empty marble countertop and miracled his clothes away, then reached for the open dish of yoghurt and poured it over the demon’s naked chest and abdomen as he yelped at the cold sensation. 

Azirpahale mounted the counter and knelt astride the demon’s legs, grinned then dived forward and began licking the yoghurt off him. 

Crowley nearly blanked out at the sudden thorough licking he was receiving. It took the angel a few drawn-out minutes to clean every drop of creamy yoghurt from the demon’s lean, hard body, then he began to kiss his way lower, tantalisingly slowly. He paused to eye Crowley wickedly. 

“So, you were saying how un-fun yoghurt was, darling?” He kissed a little lower. “Are you quite sure it’s  _ everybody  _ in the world who finds it boring still?” Another kiss, then a pause to study Crowley’s expression. 

Crowley growled then snapped at last. “Yes, yes, fine,  _ Fun _ . There, I said it: fun. Fun, fun, fuckity-fun, now will you get that blasted tongue of yours three inches lower and stop taunting me you bloody beast?”

“I knew you’d come around,” Aziraphale grinned, licked his lips and descended. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, he said this exactly like the “be-bop” speech.


	32. #GOC2020 prompt 29: Apocaplypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having escaped one apocalypse, Crowley discovers there are other apocaplyptic events that can scare the shit out of you. SFW comedy. Aziraphale has a bit of a fail. It's loud, and messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating: general audiences  
> warnings: none

Crowley was asleep on the sofa when it happened. It was quite possibly the rudest awakening he’d ever had in over 6,000 years of existence, including the time he’d been a snake wrapped around a tree branch, not quite securely enough, and slid off into a pile of fresh water buffalo manure underneath. 

It was loud, in a way that defies adequate explanation. It was extremely explosion-y, it was hot, it was steamy, it was beef flavoured, it was full of very unangelic expletives and a not insignificant amount of crashing, banging, splattering and yet more unangelic invective that would have made a sailor blush. 

Crowley launched from sleep into wakefulness with all the grace of a collapsing deckchair, with a certain amount of flailing and thrashing about in confusion, and promptly fell on the floor next to the sofa in an untidy tangle of limbs. 

Oh yeah, he had limbs today. No wiggling required. No wonder he wasn’t making much headway. 

The swear words from the direction of the kitchen had not yet abated, and if anything were growing more colourful. 

Crowley finally remembered how legs worked, well, almost, and propelled himself into a vaguely upright position, then flung his hips forward and hoped that his legs would get the idea and catch up eventually. His spine unpretzled itself and followed suit. 

He proceeded to the kitchen. 

The scene that unfolded before his eyes could best be described as apocalyptic. If, indeed, the apocalypse was nutritiously packed with healthy vegetables, beef stock, red wine, and a lump of well cooked deceased bovine resting incongruously on top of the fridge. 

The rest of the apocalypse was rather more liquid and covered every visible surface, every countertop, the floor, all the walls and the ceiling, from whence it dripped, in flavourful little splashes. It also covered Aziraphale, standing, looking confused and furious at the same time, in the middle of the kitchen floor. There was a carrot on his head. 

The oven had taken the worst of the event. The stovetop was buckled downward into the oven itself, unceremoniously shoved down with abrupt velocity by the twisted remains of a pressure cooker which had been on one of the rings. The lid of said pressure cooker was now embedded three inches deep into the plaster of the kitchen ceiling. It also dripped.

Fortunately, angels are rather resilient to mundane damage, and as such, Aziraphale was not injured, except possibly for his pride, and dignity. He looked up at the demon despondently. His vociferous litany of curses had stumbled to an awkward silence and a hefty dose of embarrassment. 

“Angel…,” Crowley began, “... and I realise that I may not be ready for the answer to this question, but … WHAT THE  _ FUCK  _ WAS THAT?”

Azirpahale looked sheepish. “Well it  _ was  _ going to be boeuf bourguignon.” He looked around him woefully. “Now, I believe, it is the new colour scheme for the kitchen.”

_ “...How???” _

The angel sighed wearily. “Pressure cooker. What does it  _ look  _ like, Crowley?” He added, tetchily. 

“How  _ old  _ was that thing? No, wait, don’t answer that, I can imagine. You bought it new when they were first invented or something didn’t you?”

“...Possibly.”

Crowley sighed and picked the carrot out of his angel’s hair. He munched it thoughtfully. 

“Tasted good though.” He looked around the kitchen and thanked  _ somebody  _ that he could snap all of this back to rights. He pitied any humans that this might happen to, cleanup would be a  _ bitch _ . He miracled the kitchen back to it’s pre-apocalyptic state. He very pointedly did not include the pressure cooker in his miracle, banishing its remains to the vastness of space for all eternity instead. 

Aziraphale was likewise no longer gravy-coated, and looked rather relieved. Crowley took pity on him. 

“Y’know, Angel, I do believe that a new Italian restaurant has just opened up a few streets over, and I think that this evening would be  _ ideal  _ to go and try it out, don’t you?”

Aziraphale smiled weakly, and finally allowed himself a small laugh as Crowley wrapped him up in his arms for a consoling hug. 

“C’mon, Angel. Let’s go get dinner. Might buy you a slow cooker as well, rather easier, just as tasty, significantly slower, but very much less volatile.”

“Thank you, Crowley.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	33. #GOC2020 prompt 30: The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things come to an end, but it's not always a bad thing, as an angel and demon are discovering after the world very much didn't come to an end, but other things do. SFW fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: general audiences  
> warnings: none

After the apocalypse came, the world didn’t end. But many other things did. Most people would say that all good things must come to an end, which is a rather pessimistic worldview. However things coming to an end is not always the terrible prospect one imagines it to be.  
  
So many things came to an end for Aziraphale and Crowley after the world didn’t. It took them a little while to notice. 

Space, for a start. No, not space as in ‘full of stars, planets, moons, asteroids, satellites and miscellaneous space junk.’ 

The space between a certain angel and demon. The cautious distance always placed between them so as to avoid accidental touching or implications that they might be… together. It narrowed, gradually at first, and then one day, just came to an end - they day they just leant against each other on a park bench in companionable silence. 

Crowley hiding his affection under a pretence of platonic friendship came to an end as well. He no longer had to find feeble excuses for the gifts, the dinners, pastries, books, regency silver snuff boxes and all the lovely little things he loved to give his angel. He didn’t try to pass the gifts off as “just something I found somewhere that needed a home,” or “I was passing that shop anyway so thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

Instead it became “I thought you might like this.” Or: “I saw this and thought of you.” Gifted with a warm smile instead of a dismissive hand wave as if it were nothing worth mentioning.  
  
An end came to the restraint they’d had to display, withholding touches, an end came to the ban on holding hands as they walked. An end came to veiled words and dancing around feelings. 

Not immediately of course, these things take time, but they did, indeed come to a gradual end. And every time something new came to an end, they began to notice, and smile. 

One day, Crowley stood from the park bench and turned, hand held out, to assist Aziraphale in rising. Once on his feet, Crowley didn’t relinquish the angel’s hand, and kept hold of it as they walked away. 

They went to the movies, and Crowley sighed then rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. After a brief jolt of surprise, the angel settled into the welcome sensation of closeness, and had to fight his own aura to keep it from glowing so bright that it might show up in the darkened auditorium and distract the humans. 

Upon leaving the cinema, rather than taking Crowley’s offered hand, instead he simply wound his arm around the demon’s slim waist with a smile. 

Back at the bookshop, an end came to Crowley occupying the sofa on his own while Aziraphale sat across the small coffee table on his office chair. Instead he fetched them each an aperitif and settled down on the sofa next to the demon to chat about the film. Legs touching, growing more relaxed with each refill, until Aziraphale, in turn, rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

They’d chatted until Crowley grew sleepy, then he lay down, his head on Aziraphale’s lap, for a nap, while the angel stroked his hair and read in contented silence. 

Come morning, Crowley woke to find a steaming hot cup of black coffee on the table waiting for him next to a toast rack with a selection of white and wholemeal slices, some creamery butter and homemade strawberry jam, lemon curd, and marmalade to choose from. Aziraphale came through from the small kitchenette with a steaming bowl of creamy porridge sprinkled with brown sugar, and sat on the sofa next to Crowley to consume it while the demon sipped coffee and nibbled some toast. 

And so came to an end, the unspoken rule about not staying the night.

The clock ticked, the dust swirled in bars of golden sunlight. Pages flipped on ancient tomes with a quiet rustle of paper. Every few hours the kettle would boil again, a fresh cup of tea or two would be poured, the tinkling sound of silver spoon on fine china, quiet sips, the crunch of a biscuit or two in tandem. Aziraphale read and made notes while Crowley scrolled on his phone, then wandered the stacks until he found a book on classic Bentleys that took his interest, then he sat down to read as well, head on his angel’s lap once more, Aziraphale’s fingers running through his short red hair in soothing repetition. 

To many it would sound like tedium. To them it was comfort, peace and companionship. Unfettered, without worry. Sharing the silence together and relaxing in each other’s company like never before. An end had come to hurrying off home on a contrived excuse. 

Crowley set his book aside and gazed up at Aziraphale with a contented smile on his features. Aziraphale noticed and set his own book aside, without ceasing his gentle stroking of Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley sat up a little and regarded the angel calmly, and then an end came to something else... 

… the world in which their lips had never met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestion by Beppi on the M25 Discord server, thanks!
> 
> That's all of the daily challenges for the Good Omens Celebration Challenge prompts, thank you so much for reading along and for all the lovely comments, I've thoroughly enjoyed coming up with inventive ways to fill these prompts and it's had me thinking outside the box somewhat, which is always a fun challenge for a writer. 
> 
> Lots of love to all my wonderful readers, this AO3 is nothing without you. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Demonic Gardening](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300151) by [Elwyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyst/pseuds/Elwyst)




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